From Twilight to Dawn
by Kasmi Kassim
Summary: The relationship between father and son is strained in turmoil of adolescence. But further estranged by a horrible revelation and a mistake of a buried past, Legolas and Thranduil must risk all to save each other and the love that threatens to be lost.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: I do not own LOTR.

**Rating**: PG-13

**Author's Note**: This is an installation of a piece of the Greenleaf Chronicles. The characters featured and the length of the story will be a legitimate successor of _The Strength of One Green Leaf_. Sequels and prequels may broaden the scale of this universe; the frequency of updates will probably depend on encouraging reviews or discouraging flames. ;)

On a side note, I'd like to thank **spiritstllionofthecimarro** for reviewing _Beasts of Burden_. Though I would love to indulge the wishes of my reviewer, I am afraid I don't quite grasp what you are asking. In _Beasts of Burden_, Aragorn has nothing to forgive...unless you are referring to the hint about the incident in which Aragorn and Legolas part in unfriendly terms and meet up again with Legolas having forgiven Aragorn. In that case, the entire incident will probably be elaborated upon in a longer story; if that is not what you were asking about, please let me know! Thank you for the review!

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**_by_****_ Kasmi Kassim_**

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**_From Twilight to Dawn_**

**_Prologue_**

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"You expect too much of yourself."

The quiet voice rang into the tranquil air. The evening was a pale blue, the early light of the stars above seeping into the cool embrace.

Darkness was falling. And yet, pale stars twinkled gently from afar.

Legolas stood still, head bowed, eyes stubbornly digging into the carpeted floor. His hand still clutched his bow, whitened knuckles soiled with black blood. Flaxen hair, now tinged with black, was carelessly thrown behind his stiff shoulders in a tangled mess. Brows furrowed, his jaw was set, the tired skin taut with grim anticipation.

A soft sigh gently spread against the clear air once more. His father turned away from the window, regarding him sternly. His crown was haphazardly thrown aside, the intricate lacings of his robes open and loose. Blond warrior plaits followed the untidy fashion, as they hung woven between cascades of hair, bearing marks of having been brushed back with impatience over and over again. The king's countenance was somber.

"Look at me."

Biting his lip, Legolas raised his head reluctantly. Azure blue eyes rose to meet the pale blue of the father, and Legolas dropped his gaze once more. He could not look into those piercing eyes. His guilt was gnawing at his insides painfully already, and facing the famous gaze of the king his father was, at the moment, more impossible than infiltrating Dol Guldur alone to demand tea with the Necromancer.

"Do you feel insecure about yourself, Legolas?"

The figure of his son remained stiff and unmoving, and Thranduil rubbed his eyes. He tiredly moved from the window toward the wall, and began to straighten out the tapestry that hung against it.

"Has anyone, including myself, given you cause to doubt your self-worth?"

Mutely, his son shook his head. Thranduil sighed again. He approached his motionless child.

"I find it difficult to criticize you, Legolas. When you make a mistake, you take criticism to a spectacular level and begin to loathe yourself." With a finger, he tilted up his son's stubborn chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. "You cannot be perfect, Legolas. It is unwise to continue this cycle of conscious effort and fear of mistakes that turn into self-disappointment and self-contempt. You must learn to forgive yourself of your mistakes, and learn from them."

Legolas bowed his head. "Yes, Father." The voice was obedient, almost mechanical. The brow of the king furrowed.

With a sigh, he rested his hands on his son's shoulders and squeezed them with enough force to make the child flinch.

"You are still learning, Legolas. You must learn to move on. You still have a long path ahead."

Ah, how long that path seemed now. Legolas bit his lip. When he envisioned it, all he could see was a path of never-ending pain. How much more of this was he to endure? Continual failure, disappointed reproaches, a new resolve that would eventually break after a complacence of two moons? It was endless. It would go on for a very long time. And he would never be able to raise his eyes to meet the people around him, for he would never be able to face himself without shame.

It was always the same. Periodic reproaches, new resolve and determination, a good two moons of conscious effort and struggle to please, constant uncertainty. And he would eventually grow accustomed, complacent, and the reproach would come again. And he would crumble in realization and disappointment, and all hopes would vanish.

He wanted to cry.

"Yes, Father."

He bowed again, and turned to leave.

"Legolas, I am not finished."

Knuckled whitened. But the child calmly turned back around, and faced his father. Any sign of resentment or inattention would result in another round of lectures and probing questions, and he would not be able to escape the suffocation of entrapment that he would feel then. He trained his gaze on his father, schooling his expression into an acquiescent face of an accepting son.

Gaze fixed evenly upon the youth, Thranduil approached. Before Legolas could prepare himself for another speech, he was startled to find himself pulled into an abrupt embrace. His body stiffened.

"Give it time," murmured his father, stroking his hair. "Give yourself time."

Time. But how much time would he waste in the process? How many long years of endless reproaches, tiring resolutions, the agonizing disappointments that cut him like a betrayal? How much time until he finally became the loving, selfless elf that he couldn't seem to be?

Unsteady fingers rose to clutch at his father's robes, but faltered. He wanted to cry, but then his father would ask why. And he would have no answers. He bit his lip. The trembling hands dropped limply at his sides.

But Ada, you don't understand.

With a shimmering glaze in his eyes, Legolas pulled back. The tension in the air suddenly cracked as he broke forth a tearful smile. "I will try, Ada."

I really do try. I do.

A dazzling smile blossomed on his father's lips. Thranduil stroked Legolas' hair tenderly. "That is more like my little Greenleaf."

Wiping his eyes, Legolas smiled brightly again. With a lingering gaze upon his father, he stepped back, and disappeared from the doorway.

Thranduil sighed. Turning back toward the window, he slowly approached the fading blue of the evening that colored the glass. He tentatively rested a hand on the smooth surface, eyes longingly lingering on a stone bench in the middle of the garden overlooked by the study.

"I grow weary," he whispered, eyes distant. "He is in a turbulent age, and I grow weary with him." Pale fingers traced invisible patterns on the glass, outlining the shimmer of the distant stars. "When I speak to him, he does not hear me. When I look for him, he is distant. When I embrace him, he no longer wraps his arms around me." Dropping his hand, he stared down at both of his hands.

Turning around toward the wall, he slowly gazed up at the large tapestry. In it smiled a small family of three, the mother and father holding a beaming infant between them. The mother's arms were wrapped around the child, who was happily plucking at the grass on which they were seated, as the father's arm encircled his wife's shoulder. He closed his eyes.

"What would you do, if you were here?"

The sunny smile of the queen gave him no answers.

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With heavy steps, Legolas treaded the dark forest path. His bow hung loosely in his hand, still covered in grime; his tunic was still soiled with black blood. A disheveled mess of hair hung down his back, and his eyes were vacant, unseeing.

He knew he should not be out alone in his weary state. But he was too tired. Too tired to worry about safety.

If he could continue to walk forever and ever – in this direction, in any direction, listening to the silent beckoning of the winds and the trees that no one else bothered to hear – perhaps his mind would slowly let go of the memories of the blood and the screams, release the tearing guilt and the pain. If only he could become lost in the silent maelstrom of sounds and songs of the forest, if only he could forget all else, and concentrate and keep listening and following –

"We meet again, child."

Startled, he raised his bow. The fingers worked automatically around the wood, sliding the arrow in place. The old man before him lifted his arms in a gesture of surrender, raising his eyebrows. Legolas hurriedly lowered his bow. It was simply an old mortal man.

"How did you get into the forest?" he inquired, forgetting his lessons in courtesy. Something about this man was amiss. His long white robes were pure and radiant, unstained by the dark of the forest. His ancient eyes regarded him with an unreadable depth in them, and his tall form was erect, more so than a normal human would be at that age. His hair and beard were enough to tell that he was old. But he did not look old at all.

The old man chuckled. "Why, young elf, I came to see you."

Legolas stepped back. Something strange was emanating from this man. Why had he not sensed this before? Something misty…not dark, necessarily, but something vague, mysterious – as if he were wading in a dream, a foggy landscape from which he feared to escape, lest the fog clear to reveal something he did not wish to see…

"You did no wrong," said the old man, almost to himself. He began to walk. Without thinking, Legolas began to follow.

"Your sympathetic nature and kind heart led to your pity, and your pity did lead to the injuries of your people-" He turned, and smiled knowingly. Legolas swallowed. "-but one as kind as yourself could not be heartless when forced to fight kin."

Legolas frowned. "Kin?" he repeated, tightening his hold on the bow. He did not want to remember the events of earlier that day. "They were orcs. I simply made a mistake. How do you know-"

With an unfathomable twinkle in his eyes, the tall man bent down. Legolas stepped back.

"Why, young one, I thought you knew." The voice snaked around his ears sensually, causing him to shudder. He did not understand this new sensation, this strange tone. The fog was thickening, and the darkness was looming, and he feared to step out to face it. He took another step back. "I suppose your father did not tell you who your enemies actually are."

The dark forest did not sing that evening; it was enveloped in a hushed shadow, a haunted silence.

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**_To Be Continued_**

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To those who reviewed _Unfinished Earth_-

**Unsung Heroine**: Yay, you registered! Haha, and I did look at your favorites list. It was worth the look. ;) I am so happy that you liked my latest story. Thank you for encouraging me always!

**Deana**: Really? You like? Hehehe, thank you! I'm so glad!

**Rede**: Your review made me cry. There is no way I would ever think to put myself above some of those fanfic giants out there, many of whom prowl in fanfiction net, and I was flabbergasted at your overwhelming praise and deeply touched at how highly you think of my work! I have no idea what it is about what I wrote that awed you so – would you care to fill me in? ;) – but I am truly honored to be called your inspiration. I am utterly speechless and grateful that I could find no words to express my humble gratitude to you. Thank you so much for your support and encouragement, and as you thank me, I thank you from the bottom of my soul for plunging into my works wholeheartedly and sharing your honest emotions after reading them. I was inclined to ponder as to why my latest work garnered the least attention amongst my LOTR fanfics, considering that the work was the most exhaustive by far...but your words brought me to heaven, and I am happy. Thank you so much.

**Brazgirl**: Hello! I am happy to see you, and once again happily amused by your reaction to my Thranduil. I do so love presenting him to you. You cherish him. Hehe. I am glad to hear that your test went well! Congratulations! Even small specks of happiness must be celebrated in the darkest times of one's life, no? ;) I do hope your life takes a turn for the better, my dear! And thank you for your review, and for wishing me luck in school! I think your good luck is becoming my charm! ;)

**elvingirl3737**: Wow, thank you! You have no idea how happy you just made me. Thank you!

**Coolio02**: Thank you! Your reviews always bring a smile to my face, no matter how weary or sad I am. ;)

**jibade7**: Ahh, I just saw your review and I put down this chapter briefly so that I could answer it here! Thank you so much for your review! I was truly impressed and deeply moved with your thoughtful introspection; it was amazing to see it flowing in its own accord, to see that my writing has triggered that beautiful river of emotions and realizations! Beautiful! I am truly honored. Thank you so much for your honest and thought-provoking review. Simply beautiful.


	2. Mysterious Tidings

**Disclaimer**: I do not own LOTR.

**Rating**: PG-13

**Author's Note**: I would like to thank my generous reviewers. Writing _Unfinished Earth_ right after _Beasts of Burden_ left me utterly drained and very ill, and wonderful reviews are always such a surprise and comfort. I am now less terrified of tackling this new mammoth project, thanks to the reviews. They rejuvenate me and keep me going. Thank you!

Many thanks to **Templa**** Otmena** and **Beling** for reviewing _Unfinished Earth_! Responses are at the bottom of the page. ;)

Thank you also to **Rhys** for reviewing _Unfinished Earth_ and _Beasts of Burden_! It was so kind of you to review stories that were already finished, from which I have already moved on. And to leave a review for each chapter! ;) I am happy to see that you caught the implications in _Beasts of Burden_ – I do plan on writing about the incident with Aragorn and Legolas' disagreement. And your praise for _Unfinished Earth_ honored me to no end – to be called the best in any category is enough to send a humble author into a fainting spell ;) Your descriptions of what you saw and what you felt in me while reading were very helpful to me as a writer, and your understanding of the character's motivations was beautiful. Thank you so much for your kind words!

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**_by_****_ Kasmi Kassim_**

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**_From Twilight to Dawn_**

**_Chapter 1: Mysterious Tidings_**

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Though none had warned of the arrival – because none knew of it – the lord of the valley was waiting at the path. Standing alone amid the grass and the flowers, he was a serene stillness of the earth, the gentle wave of the wind. His eyes were deep as he looked up at the early morning sky; his robes were swaying in the light breeze. Birds were singing under the pale sun. Spring was at its peak.

As the early flowers uncurled their shy petals upon the earth, a distant figure approached from afar. A gentle smile blossomed upon the elven lord's lips. The white steed trotted along the path until its rider spotted the dark-haired elf standing in the path; then the speed of the horse quickened.

"Lord Elrond!" exclaimed the rider, leaping off of the horse as the animal slowed. Elrond held out his arms.

"Welcome, Legolas."

Halting his attempt at a bow, the young prince moved into the welcoming arms with a bright smile. The twinkle in his eyes caught the rays of the sun, sending a pale glint toward the sky. His slender back was warm under Elrond's hands.

Pulling back with his hands still upon the youth's shoulders, the lord of Imladris looked into Legolas' face with a smile.

"How fares your father? And your home?" Taking the younger elf's hand, he began to walk toward the house.

"My father is well," answered Legolas, devouring the sight of the valley with his eyes. "Mirkwood is not much different from when you saw it last." Elrond could see that he was distracted, and chuckled to himself. The young eyes were brighter, his lips parted in absorption into bliss, as the wood elf looked around. Upon his first visit, the elfling of the woodland realm had called the Last Homely House a palace.

"And how fare you, Legolas? Have you been well?" Elrond watched the younger elf with affection glimmering in his dark eyes. The wood elf was radiating happiness, basking in the warmth of the peace that resided in the valley.

Turning quickly back to Elrond, Legolas smiled apologetically. "Yes. Well – my father did not allow me to leave until days after my begetting day. Forgive me my belatedness."

A twinkle akin to amusement emerged in Elrond's eyes, as his mind conjured an image of a certain blond elf who had once apologized to him just so. He shook his head, and with a smile, led the youth across the grass. The morning breeze was still quite chill, merging with a fresh scent of flowers and a honey-gold warmth that was Imladris. Their steps were idle as they strolled side by side, occasional voices mingling with shy winds.

When Elrond stopped before the halls and bid a household advisor to escort Legolas to his usual guest room, he still wore the serene smile upon his lips. But as soon as the youth turned away and disappeared down the hall, the elven lord folded his arms behind his back, watching the disappearing golden hair with a troubled expression.

Legolas Thranduilion was not a skilled liar.

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Arwen looked up from her book when she heard a soft rapping on the door. She frowned. Her brothers never knocked that softly. Well, not unless they were plotting to drag her into another one of their wild adventures or mischievous schemes. In that case, she would stay on the bed, and pretend to be absent.

However, the caller was persistent; the knock came again. It was the same soft rapping, patient and cautious. Only then did Arwen remember that her brothers had already left for their hunt; quickly resting the book on the dresser by her bed, she untangled her legs from the mess of sheets and blankets. Slipping bare feet onto the carpet, she rose and approached the door.

"Who is it?" she called, running her fingers through unruly locks of hair.

"Arwen." The call was a whisper.

Eyes wide, the elleth quickly swung her door open. She barely had time to step aside as a flash of gold and green slipped past her and ducked into her room. Swept up in the air of excitement and secrecy, she shut the door and locked it. Then she turned.

"Legolas!" she exclaimed softly, hurrying toward the elf who sat on the floor. "Why...when...how...?!"

Azure blue eyes smiled up at her. Legolas rubbed his eyes, still plopped down upon the carpet. "I see your father did not tell you that I was coming."

"Valar, no!" exclaimed Arwen again, falling to her knees and looking into her friend's face. It was a joy to see him again, though this sudden appearance was rather surprising. She had begun to think that he would not come this year – again. "How have you been? Why have been gone so long? You-" she stopped when Legolas brought a finger to his lips. She frowned, and looked back at the locked door. Legolas seemed to be listening. Soft footfalls faded away down the corridor outside.

Visibly relaxing once more, Legolas smiled up at her. He reached out and touched her cheek lightly. "You become fairer with the seasons, my lady," he remarked, a bright smile upon his lips. Arwen replied with a dazzling smile of her own, and reached out to trace his cheek as well. She stopped when her finger felt a scar under his chin. She leaned closer, a frown marring her face. When she lifted his chin and tilted her head to get a better view, Legolas pulled away.

"Let me see it," demanded Arwen, the frown deepening. Legolas smiled.

"It's healing, Arwen."

"Yes, but-" glancing back at the door, Arwen chewed on her lip. Why the secrecy?

But then again, old habits did not disappear easily; when Legolas walked into her room, she always locked the door. During the winter, they used to huddle against the hearth and share adventures they had experienced in their respective homes. They used to crawl under the blankets late at night and tell each other scary stories they heard from their fathers. They would play hide-and-seek against the entire population of Imladris, remaining huddled and stifling giggles within the darkness of a closet or a cellar or a bush or a tree, until the entire valley was upturned with a frantic search for the missing elflings as Lords Elrond and Erestor and Glorfindel watched lazily on. Only once had they been caught before coming forth to be found, which was when Arwen fell off of her perch atop a high shelf in the library – straight on top of Erestor.

Of course, the older elf had not embarrassed them or scolded them. But the two never tried high places again. Arwen refused it, and Legolas knew better than to dispute her.

Legolas read the question in her puzzled gaze. He smiled feebly.

"I have a few scratches on my back, and I cannot dress them properly."

Turning her head from the locked door, Arwen stared incredulously. "A few scratches?" She shifted, and rose to her feet. "Scratches serious enough to make you fear publicity?" She held out a hand. Legolas took it.

"Not enough to make a scene," muttered the wood elf, lifting his body off of the carpet as Arwen pulled him up. "I did not want injuries to be the first sight to greet your father."

Hands on her hips, Arwen sighed dramatically. "Ai, to think that I now stand to conspire against my father!"

Legolas chuckled as he walked to her bed. "I am forever indebted. How may I be of service to repay this kindness, my lady?"

Arwen smiled. Dark hair swirled around as she busied herself with taking out healing equipment from the drawers of her dresser. "I shall think of something," she said flightily, assembling various utensils on the bed. Legolas pulled himself onto her mattress, and Arwen smiled with her back turned toward him, listening to his relaxed breathing in the familiarity of her room.

In all earnest, she was relieved that her friend had come to her. She knew how much Legolas disliked making a public scene of himself; he would go out of his way to keep from becoming a burden to his hosts. Sometimes Elladan would roll his eyes and tell him to relax, since Imladris and Mirkwood were in friendly relations and the twins visited Mirkwood often anyway – but that did not stop the humble prince from bowing politely, declining offers of hospitality, slinking away to be inconspicuous. At least he had enough sense to come to her, instead of hiding his injuries in neglect.

Legolas unclasped his tunic and began to slide it off his shoulders. His movements were strained, however; it was obvious that the wounds were still causing him pain. Arwen's fingers stopped him. "Let me."

Gratefully he remained still, sitting cross-legged on the bed, as cool fingers glided against heated skin. Kneeling behind him, Arwen carefully removed the tunic from his torso, and sucked in her breath.

"Ada will be less than happy if he sees this," she muttered. Legolas frowned.

"Is it not presentable?" he asked over his shoulder. Arwen pressed her lips into a thin line.

What could she say? That his shoulder blades looked like they had been torn open by wargs? That bite marks – human bite marks – laced his fair skin from neck to waist? Some lacerations were deeper than others. There were what looked like whip lashes, nail scratches, bite marks, and – something else. Long lines of red burns. Burns?

"Legolas," she breathed, tentatively fingering a burn. The body beneath her cool fingers flinched. "What happened to you?"

The body stiffened under her touch. She gently placed her hand on a part of a shoulder where there were no deep wounds. "Legolas," she called again, softly. "You know you can trust me."

A sigh. And then, the tension in the shoulders left. Arwen gently brushed his hair with her fingertips, gathering it to let it fall over his right shoulder. She began to prepare to clean the wounds.

"I encountered some...trouble." The voice was tired, hesitant. Careful hands of the apprentice healer dabbed the wounds with a soft damp cloth. She could feel muscles tensing again.

"Go on," she encouraged, dipping the cloth in the small basin of water once more. As she wringed the cloth, soft droplets of water trickled through the silence of the room. Legolas leaned forward, lost in thought.

"Arwen," he called abruptly. "Have you ever come into contact with an orc?"

Distracted by the suddenness of the question, Arwen blinked. "Of course I have. But only contact through a blade – why?" After tentatively wiping away the dried blood on his back, she began to dress his wounds. Tingling sensations of magic seeped through his broken skin, the tender healing touch bestowed from her gifted hands.

Legolas did not answer. Arwen did not press further, and worked in silence. The trickle of water soothed the hush of the room.

"Legolas." Arwen tapped his shoulder. "All finished. Wake up."

Jolted from whatever reverie he was in, Legolas began to put on his tunic. His movements were smoother now, and the scars were almost completely erased due to Arwen's healing. They would fade away in less than a day. Satisfied with her work, Arwen gathered up the utensils and scrambled off of the bed. Putting the equipments away, she glanced at the locked door, and grinned. "If the kitchen elves hear your voice outside this door, they would be horrified."

Legolas smiled as well, swinging his legs down the side of the bed and placing bare feet upon the floor. "Of course, to find a growing lad in a lady's room. Very improper, horrifically scandalous."

Her back turned toward Legolas once more, Arwen put the items away into the drawers, waiting for Legolas to finish his explanation regarding his wounds. But he did not speak further, and she sighed inwardly. Males were so unreasonable. Especially Legolas. Why did he have to be so reserved sometimes?

"How long will you stay?" she asked nonchalantly, deciding to let this pass. Perhaps he would tell her later. He usually did.

Legolas' fingers were busy clasping on his tunic as he answered. "I am leaving tomorrow."

"What?" Arwen whirled around, mouth agape. Legolas looked up, and smiled apologetically.

"I hoped to catch your brothers before they left again."

"You know they leave soon after your begetting day. Winter has passed." Arwen frowned, looking decidedly unhappy. "Can't you-?"

Legolas shook his head, and smiled once again with apology in his eyes. "I wish I could. But if you wish to stay longer, you can-"

"No," cut in Arwen. "You promised to escort me to Lorien, and I am leaving with you tomorrow." Seeing the guilt in his eyes, she sighed. She threw on a light cloak. "Well," she muttered, looking out the window, "we have some time before supper. Join me for a walk in the garden, and you can tell me about your exciting life in Mirkwood while I tell you about my boring life in Imladris and Lorien."

Rising to his feet, her companion threw a rare smile of roguish charm inherited from his father. "It would be an honor, my lady," he said gallantly with a bow; Arwen giggled and slapped his arm. Grinning and snickering as if reverted to elflings once again, the pair quickly climbed out the window, and landed soundlessly in the garden. And arm in arm, they strolled away, giggling and chatting, into the fading sunlight.

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**_To Be Continued_**

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**merrymagic26**: I'm glad to hear you're liking it! Thank you!

**Deana**: Haha, I hope I don't disappoint you! Thank you!

**Mornflower**: Well, at least one person approves...;) Thank you!

**Brazgirl**: Ah yes, a healthy dose of Thranduil, yes? ;) I hope I didn't make you wait too long! And as a fellow student, I give you my sympathy. Sigh. Well, hopefully my story can make you feel better for at least a while! Thank you for reviewing! And curious readers are good...yessss....kekeke...

**MidKnightDragonz**: Haha, taking a year updating? That is a thought. Hmmm. Hohoho. Anyway, I hope your curiosity is answered soon! Thank you!

**elvingirl3737**: I am happy to hear that I depicted the adolescent thing to your satisfaction! Yay! Thank you for telling me how you felt!

**Rede**: Oh, you went way out of your way to clarify for me. I am so humbled. Thank you so much! Your encouragements mean so much, and it's a joy to see a reader who sees and understands the thought that goes to putting meanings beyond meanings. Your descriptions were so honest, so encouraging. Thank you again! I am so honored.

**KissTheRainGirl12489**: It's good to see you again! Thank you for reviewing!

**Beling**: Ah, happy am I to see you again! You left me breathless with your reviews. As for _From Twilight to Dawn_, I am so glad to hear that someone with experience approves of my portrayal of adolescent relationship complications! It was quite a challenge, trying to write from both points of view, since I have never been a parent...;) I breathed a great sigh of relief when I read your review. And the way you read into every word from the father – wow. One can tell that you have been there, done that – you just radiate insight in this matter! So deep and understanding. I can just see you reaching out and probing gently into and around the characters, feeling the pulse of their beings with your own. It's breathtaking to watch!

And Legolas' self-deprecating thoughts...I am quite experience in that field, I admit, because being in my last month of teenage, I still bear traces of that adolescent turmoil. I grew up being constantly told how selfish I am, since I'm always lost in thoughts and wrapped in my own little world, and consequently become unaware of other people...and so my periodic rounds of reproaches, nervous efforts and self-conscious doubt, complacence and reproach again – those were used as models for my perfectionist, adolescent Legolas. I hope I didn't make him too much like little me. ;) And as for _Unfinished Earth_ – I thought you decided to just review my latest update, and was happily surprised when I saw your long review. Your reminiscence of _The Strength of One Green Leaf_ (I'm giddy to hear that you like the title so much!), your insight into Thranduil's role in Legolas' development of character, and everything else...wow. You saw everything so beautifully. And your understanding of my flashback scene was so beautifully sublime. And your line, "The life that Legolas live is not one of fairybook tales with happy endings, It is real, it is dirty, and it is dangerous..." was beautiful. Your lovely visualizations of the strong, wounded creatures that come full circle in a bond of healing is breathtaking to behold. Thank you so much, mellon nin – you move me every time with your kindness as well as your insight.

**Ninna**: Wow, a new reviewer! I am so glad you decided to leave me a review! See, one always wonders how many people actually read her stories. And boy, is it a happy surprise to hear that you even enjoy my bio page! I am humbled to no end. ;) Thank you for the review, and for telling me what you thought of _Unfinished Earth_!

**Templa**** Otmena**: My dear, you win the prize for Longest Review Kasmi Ever Received on a Single Story Award. ;)

Before going off into sputtering rounds of thanks, I would like to congratulate you on your vigorous start of a new phase in life! So diligent with the job search, the applications...sigh. I hope you get into the university you want!

And as for your reviews...;) I am glad to hear that you liked the beginning of my new story! You need not feel pressured into reviewing for me, though I do adore your reviews so very much – and believe me, they are very much worth the wait! Your review for _Unfinished Earth_ just moved me to tears. Such insight and thoughtfulness! You liked my Haldir? Hehehe. Yes, you are correct in pointing out a long-standing relationship between the Mirkwood royalty and Haldir; I am glad to see that you are already looking forward to a back-story on that, as I am actually planning on writing one! In fact, the new story I started is full of it...;) I was also delighted to see you mention how Thranduil pretends to have come only because he missed his son, because his last two sentences were the first visualization I had that gave birth to this work centered on the theme of fatherly love, until the piece gained more and more themes on top of each other and culminated into this monster of a vignette. ;) I am honored that you see layers in the piece, as was my humble wish. As always, your grasp at implied themes and vaguely hinted truths amaze me and enlighten me on what I had subconsciously wanted to depict. I draw what I feel, you see coherent themes and meanings in them, and I thrive on your perceptions of them, and the new light they shed upon my work.

I am now fascinated with your experience in England as well as Australia...;) I like Seattle, because like you, I prefer rain to sun – though many people find it depressing and an excuse to get addicted to coffee (is it true that other cities or countries don't have coffee shops around every other corner of the street?). Western Washington is like this, but once you cross the Cascade Range that cuts down the middle of the state...things start looking like California. ;) I would give you a tour (despite my interesting sense of direction) if you would ever visit...! ;) Anyway, I am finally decided on my major, following your path in majoring in English. Do you know what kind of jobs an English major could survive on? ;) Ah well, I shall follow your advice and answer your belief in me by setting my foot in that direction. Now, my 20th birthday may be a joyful event, it had not been only 10 days after the election – I would be very sad if a certain someone got reelected. ;) Ahh, enough babbling. Thank you so much for your magnificent reviews, for your concern – and take care!

**Unsung Heroine**: I am grateful to hear that! Thank you for reviewing despite your computer's lack of cooperation! And your comment on being incoherent in my reviews...I will interpret that as a great praise. Thank you!


	3. An Unknown Enemy

**Disclaimer**: I do not own LOTR.

**Rating**: PG-13

**Author's Note**: Reviews are keeping me alive. Thank you reviewers!

I would like to thank **SailorOrion11** for reviewing _Into the Light_. It's rare to find someone who appreciates Gilraen stories! I did read yours after I received word from you, and it is very good! ;) Thank you for reviewing!

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**_by Kasmi Kassim_**

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**_From Twilight to Dawn_**

**_Chapter 2: An Unknown Enemy_**

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"Are you ready?"

Arwen nodded, patting her horse's neck. Legolas nudged his horse to stand next to her, and together they looked toward the far horizon. The sun was rising.

"Be careful," said Elrond, coming nearer. Morning frost crunched softly under his feet. He looked up at them with an affectionate smile, and reached out his hand. Arwen leaned forward to grasp it.

"Give my regards to your grandparents," said the elvenlord, squeezing his daughter's hand. She bent down to kiss his cheek, nearly wobbling off of her mount. Legolas' hand shot out to steady her. A light-spirited giggle escaped her throat, bubbling into the pale blue sky.

Elrond stepped back. "And Legolas," he called, turning to the blond elf, "you will come back to visit sometime soon? Longer than a day, I hope." His smile broadened as Legolas murmured a sheepish apology.

Sweeping his gaze over the small assembly of elves in the courtyard, Legolas bowed with his hand at his heart. He turned to Elrond, and smiled. "Please give my regards to Elladan and Elrohir," he said sincerely. Elrond nodded, and stepped out of the way. He touched his heart, whispering a silent prayer, as the horses neighed and shook their manes. Then they galloped away, into the rising sun. Elrond watched with a pensive expression.

The morning was still young; it would be a long day.

"Secrecy does not become our young Thranduilion," mused a voice from behind, as Erestor stepped up to join the elvenlord. Elrond nodded thoughtfully.

"He will return."

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It was midday when they stopped for a break. Leaping off of their mounts, they allowed their horses to wander, and rested in the shades of the trees that dotted the land. They had crossed half of the distance to Lorien, but the trip was not a short one. They would need their strength.

"How long has it been?" asked Arwen, drinking from a water skin. She leaned back against a trunk of a tree.

Legolas looked down from his perch on a branch over her head, and fell into contemplation. "Seven years, I believe," he mused, swinging a leg. "I promised to return within five."

"You will get an earful," observed Arwen with a good deal of humor, and Legolas sighed melodramatically.

"Probably."

After he had forged that difficult path to friendship with the guardian trio of Lothlorien, he had promised to return in five years. Haldir had wanted to see him taller. Legolas had protested that there was no way for him to grow in height in only five years, but Haldir had persisted. So now, he was off to Lorien, two years late, and barely any taller. But Haldir was right; elves _did_ grow fast at this age. He smiled at the memory of his exasperated protests, and Haldir's persistence. Those days had been trying times. But the pain had been worth it after all.

Arwen closed her eyes, humming softly to herself. When she felt a shadow loom across her face, she opened her eyes. Legolas was standing by her, his hair brushing gently against his shoulders in the wind. His eyes were focused sharply on the plains.

"Hide," he whispered. In a flash, Arwen leaped up into the foliage above, and disappeared from view.

Legolas stood still, looking straight ahead, as if turned to stone. His green and brown apparel camouflaged him against the trees, and his piercing blue eyes were all that betrayed that he was a separate life form from the whispering woods.

Looking down from her hiding, Arwen frowned. Why was he not moving? His hands were empty, and his bow rested on his back. What was he thinking?

A sudden twang rang in the air. Arwen flinched. Quivering on the tree trunk next to Legolas' arm was a small dart. And that blasted elf still did not move.

With a roar, the bushes to the left spilled forth. Men.

Arwen clutched the tree branches tightly as Legolas leaped into action. She did not join the fray. She did not know what Legolas had in mind, but something was suspicious about this attack. Legolas seemed to know how to handle it – seemed to know who they were. So she stayed where she was, waiting for Legolas to call for her help should he need it. Though the Mirkwood elf was confident of his abilities, his confidence came not with brashness of youth, but with experience. He had good sense to judge whether or not he needed help, an intuition that swiftly crossed borders of life and death, acquired from fighting for survival since a tender age. And so far, he seemed to prefer her to stay up in the tree. So she remained silent, unmoving.

He was fast. His young body twirled around here and there, nearly invisible, as the dark-clad men attacked. They were dressed as rangers. Arwen narrowed her eyes. There were six on the ground. And only one more was standing.

Legolas dashed forward with his knife, zooming in. But the man was fast; he thrust his arm forward. Arwen froze. A small black dart embedded itself into the hollow joint of Legolas' shoulder and collarbone.

The elf staggered, and together they both fell, rolling and wrestling on the grass. And soon, they were stationary, locked in a deadly grip; the man was on top of Legolas, and Legolas' knuckles whitened as the two strained against each other. But Arwen could see a losing battle; the elf's eyes were beginning to lose focus; his breaths were becoming shallow. With panic evident in his eyes, he struggled against the man, seeking to throw him off, but his movements were sluggish. It was now clear: he had been poisoned with a tranquilizer.

Seeing that resistance was weakening, the man allowed a small grin. Viciously pushing down the arms that struggled to push him away, the man pinned the elf to the ground. The pale arms strained some more; and then, they fell weakly onto the ground.

Arwen's breath hitched.

The other men lay around the clearing, motionless, as Legolas had swiftly knocked them out of consciousness. Legolas' eyes were blinking slowly, lethargically, as the man smiled in triumph. Straddling the elf, the mortal began to dig his hands underneath the elf's jerkin, as if searching for something. When he saw the smooth, unmarred skin, he frowned, as if confused. He began to unclasp the jerkin, the frown deepening. He was muttering something under his breath.

Arwen, hiding among the foliage, felt her blood becoming colder and colder. What was that man doing? What did he seek to find? Was he trying to see if Legolas was indeed the elf the mortal savages had tortured weeks before?

Unsheathing her long sword, Arwen soundlessly leaped down from the tree. The elf's hands were now stilled, lying limp on the forest floor. Arwen stepped forth. A bird trilled in a distance.

As if sensing another's presence, the man's searching hands abruptly stopped; with a suspicious frown, he swung his head around in Arwen's direction – when Legolas' hand shot out and grabbed his chin, forcing his eyes away from her with all his might. The man's eyes widened. Dark brown and intense blue locked gazes. Arwen raised her sword.

Suddenly, a calm, dangerous voice broke from Legolas' lips. His eyes did not leave the man.

"Look away, Arwen."

The bird's trill echoed again, much softer this time, before fading away.

A splash of crimson hurled against the sky.

Arwen stood frozen, a hand halfway shielding her terrified eyes. Legolas slowly pushed the limp body off of himself and sat up. His arms were shaking from the strain. His eyes were blank as they looked down upon the man, the blood that pumped out of the eyes. He then blankly stared at his bloodied knife.

He slowly turned to meet Arwen's petrified stare. Blinking a few times, he shook his head, and stood. His steps were unsteady.

"Let us be on our way." He whistled toward the trees, and horse hooves could be heard approaching. "They will follow us."

Arwen took a sharp inhalation of breath. Legolas grasped the reins of his horse, and leaned heavily against the strong body of the animal. Arwen stood where she was, unable to move.

"You...I have never seen..." Her whisper faded, her eyes frozen in disbelief. Legolas slowly turned, and Arwen's heart clenched upon the sad smile on his face.

"I had hoped you never would," he said softly.

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**_To Be Continued_**

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**Deana**: Thank you! I hope this was soon enough for you! ;)

**Mornflower**: Ah, you make me happy! And yes, you will find out eventually. ;)

**Rede**: Thank you so much for telling me what you liked about the chapter! It is always gratifying to the writer. ;) And as you say you adore my work, I adore your reviews! ;)

**Brazgirl**: Haha, isn't Legolas usually quiet? ;)

**K'lara7**: Oh, really? That means I must try to get better then! I hope I un-confuse you soon! ;)

**kisstheraingirl12489**: You don't like Legolas stories? Well, I am glad you looked into mine – isn't it a lucky coincidence that I have Elrond here! But about Elrond's seeming alienation from slash or mary sue...if only you knew, my dear, if only you knew...(chuckle) but anyway, I am sorry to say I don't know many Elrond fics, let alone Elrond torture fics. You may want to look for stories where he must part with Celebrian. Thank you for reviewing!

**elvingirl3737**: Ooh, thank you! I am excited! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

**merrymagic26**: Haha, I updated despite it being a weekday. I hope you liked this chapter. Thank you for your review!

**Unsung Heroine**: I am touched that you try over and over again to review even when the site is being mean to you. And it's such a relief to hear that you like my Arwen! Thank you!

**Beling**: Did I manage to confuse you? Hehehe. I am so evil. Mwahahaha. Anyway, your mention of Middle Earth Disneyworld had me smiling with my own memories. So sweet. You understand the psychological turmoil of the young and old so well, you are surprising me with each review! ;) I am already anticipating what you would say about my next chapters when I write each one! (Not that I am pressuring you into reviewing...hahaha) Thank you for your beautiful review once again!

**Templa Otmena**: My, to lose that long wonderful review to a site crash...that is definitely tragic! I feel for you, mellon. But my, sleeping at 3 in the morning? You are one impressive lady! ;) And I am touched all the more that you wrote me that incredibly long review again despite the frustration you must have felt. Did you know that you broke your record in review length already? Hohoho. I was gratified to no end that you think so highly of my beloved latest work....and to hear that you liked my barely-glimpsed Haldir! I am excited to show his story to you already! ;) And my last chapter...I was quite nervous about my Arwen, as many female characters tend to be more critically scrutinized when read by female readers. ;) And as always, you surprise me with your sharp recollection of my earlier works that are hinted here and there, and I was so surprised to hear that you remembered my words on not writing about Arwen and Legolas' meeting...wow! And your pinpointing of my very last sentence's foreshadowing! Applause to you for catching that one, mellon nin! ;)

And Washington...yes, it is the Evergreen State (pine trees everywhere;), but it does have its share of Autumn foliage, and a bit of snow if lucky ;) I'd be happy to show you around, if only you would come; and we can discuss the finer points of fanfiction writing...hahaha, I sound obsessed now. (I think I am, at the rate your reviews are enlarging my head ;) Anyway, I'm happy to hear that you had a job interview! It sounds so exciting. And lucky you were, that the lady was nice! Heh. I was answering a survey phone call for the Associated Press regarding the election, and was giving my age and candidate choice and reason and all that...and among countless other questions, I was asked, 'What are your priorities in voting for a president? Strong stand on issues, religious preference, honesty, care and concern, or intelligence?' I mumbled, 'Intelligence.' Now we all know what Kasmi thinks of a certain someone's intelligence, don't we? ;) Haha. Well, anyway. I thank you for again for another beautiful review. And you always tell me to take care – it moves me every time. ;) Thank you and take care!


	4. After the Blood Red Sun

**Disclaimer**: I do not own LOTR.

**Rating**: PG-13

**Author's Note**: I apologize for the delay. The frenzy of US elections left me still delirious and semi-aware of even my own 20th birthday...and I recently tore my completed chapter 3 apart to start it anew. Thank you, wonderful reviewers; I feel like I already received birthday gifts, and it's still a long way till Friday. ;) I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Thank you to **Rhys** for reviewing many chapters of _The Strength of One Green Leaf_! Judging from your reactions, I would have much enjoyed leaving you in suspense...sigh. ;) But it is very sweet to receive reviews for that old piece of mine – the one that really got me plunging into the world of multi-chapter stories ;) Thank you so much for your kind reviews, and I was so happy to hear you tell me how you felt about specific parts in the story. Such a joy. Thank you so much! I hope you find enjoyment from my other works as well!

Thank you also to **NaughtyNettie** for reviewing _the Strength of One Green Leaf_ and _Of Elflings and Adolescents_! I am gratified to hear that my stories had such an effect on you. I hope my other works don't disappoint you!

Thank you to **Erestor** for reviewing _Beasts of Burden_! You really flatter me with such generous words. ;) It was a delight to read how you felt about each part of the story – and it's a relief to hear that my English seems sound! ;) You are right in pointing out that I seem to enjoy crafting sentences – I take delight in that in both of my languages. Thank you for your insightful comments about my characters; they really helped me see my work with perspective. And I share your critical standpoint with Legolas-Aragorn stories. Most of them do tend to follow the vein and fail to bring out the depth of their relationship, and it is such a humble relief to hear that I didn't disappoint you. I am grateful and hopeful that you might read more of my stories – hopefully they don't disappoint! You, my friend, hold up the torch beautifully. Never let bad fanfiction depress you.

Thank you to **KeshieShimmer**, who reviewed _Into the Light_! Thank you for dropping by to let me know that you enjoyed it!

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**_By Kasmi Kassim_**

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**_From Twilight to Dawn_**

**_Chapter 3: After the Blood-Red Sun_**

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A gentle breeze was caressing his face when Legolas regained consciousness. He blinked slowly, allowing his eyes to focus, as brilliant hues of gold and red hovered far above. The sky was staining into lavender and dark blue.

With a start, he lifted his body. Nausea hit with violence; the world spun. Startled, he breathed sharply, before falling back onto the soft grass. A hand swiftly caught his shoulders across the back and eased him down.

"Not so hasty," said a soft voice. Legolas let out a weary breath.

"How long..."

"Only half a day." Another hand came up and stroked his forehead. "You almost fell off of your horse. But the drug was weak; it will wear off soon."

Letting out another weak breath, Legolas looked upward. The spinning of the sky was slowing down. Green grass swayed gently around his body, colored orange by the sunset. A distant bird was singing, mournfully, weakly. He closed his eyes.

It was after a moment of silence that the soft voice spoke again.

"Did you mean to hide it forever, little brother?"

Legolas opened his eyes. Sad gray eyes looked down at him. He looked away.

"I'm sorry, Arwen." His voice was a whisper.

A gentle hand stroked his face, over and over again.

"Do not be sorry that I was involved. But I do wish you had told me about your plight."

"It was not..." the voice trailed off, at a loss. Legolas closed his eyes once more. All sensation was lost except for the cool hand that stroked his skin, soothingly. And the soft trill of a bird.

"Did those men do that to you? The injuries?"

He nodded. Arwen did not press further. It was up to him to venture first.

With a deep inhalation, he opened his eyes.

"I met a band of men," he said slowly. "They asked me if I knew where Mirkwood was."

Arwen nodded. Legolas began to pull himself up onto his elbows. Arwen sat by him in perfect serenity, her dark hair a shade of auburn in the setting sun. Her cloak was spread about her, a soft wavering mass on the grass. They were on the crest of a small hill, facing west. Moving slowly as to not aggravate the nausea again, Legolas finally pulled himself up onto a sitting position. He leaned back on his palms.

"When I said I came from Mirkwood, they attacked me."

Arwen's sudden glance communicated all that he had expected: alarm, fear, disbelief. He wearily rubbed his eyes. His head still spun.

"I overwhelmed them and held the leader down, and asked him why..." He turned a puzzled gaze toward Arwen. "Elves and men were friends once, were they not?"

Arwen nodded in silence. Ah, how innocent this friend was.

"He said he wanted to speak to me – so I released him. And one of his men shot me with a drugged dart." Legolas slowly reached up toward his shoulder. "I do not remember what happened afterwards."

Arwen did not speak. Birds were singing in a distance, into the last rays of the sun.

When Legolas turned to gauge Arwen's expression, her face was blank, horrified – he could not tell which. Something about her was frozen. He blinked.

"Arwen?" he called.

The elleth quickly shook her head, as if forcing out screaming demons from her mind. "'Tis nothing," she said with haste, and scanned his chest with inspective eyes. "What...situation were you in, when you regained consciousness?" She hastily pushed back a strand of hair behind her ear. Legolas tilted his head.

"I was running – with the marks you saw on me that day."

He was suddenly tired. He closed his eyes. A gentle wind blew across the plains, revealing glimpses of new bandages beneath his collarbone.

"We must leave soon," said Legolas slowly, attempting to rouse himself out of the melancholy weariness. He reached up to feel his hair; the warrior plaits were still there, tight and ready. He took a deep breath.

Arwen turned her gaze toward the western horizon. Her eyes narrowed upon the slanted rays of the setting sun.

"A blood-red sun," she whispered. Legolas nodded.

"Let us travel a bit further before stopping for the night," he murmured. "A shadow is growing."

Arwen nodded in silence. Though she could feel no such shadow in her mind, she did not argue; she had to trust the honed instincts of the Mirkwood prince. She reached to her side and picked up a water skin.

"Drink," she said, handing it to Legolas. "We shall rest a bit longer before setting off."

Legolas obediently brought the skin to his lips. His pale eyes were glassy against the rays of the sun. He put the skin down after drinking his fill, and felt eyes upon him. He turned to Arwen with a questioning gaze. Arwen shook her head, and hugged her knees. She looked out toward the sunset once again. They sat in silence.

It was only broken after a moment with Arwen's quiet voice.

"What do you feel when you are in battle, Legolas?"

Legolas held his breath. Slowly he turned, and found solemn gray eyes looking into his own. They were undemanding, gentle – only a sincere concern and inquiry lay in those depths. She was a good friend. An easy companion. He sighed deeply.

"Nothing in particular." He put down the water skin, and idly fingered the grass.

"Your mind is numbed, then?" asked Arwen once again, and her voice was even softer. She seemed almost afraid – though whether it was fear of asking him to answer, or fear of receiving an answer, he was not sure.

He briefly wondered what it would be like to live a peaceful life. A life in which days were spent in bliss, in which one could study and learn and talk and sing with all the time in one's hands, in which blood and death were a distant tale only told in books and rumors from faraway lands.

He could not imagine such a life. And therefore, he could not read Arwen's searching gaze. Could not understand what she wanted, what she sought. He opted for shaking his head.

"It is not numb." He blinked rapidly, searching for the right words. "My body is so accustomed to battle... that it performs without thoughts to cloud judgments."

Arwen chewed on her lip. It occurred to Legolas that perhaps she was feeling the same way as he; she could not possibly understand what it was like, to fight for survival every day. Could they cross this gulf? Perhaps they could. But he hoped they would not have to. He did not want Arwen to know. It was a bloody, dirty land on this side that he stood on. He preferred not to hold out the bridge to her.

He offered a smile. "Perhaps it sleeps."

But Arwen was not so easily deterred. "But surely you use your head when you fight?" Her eyes were wider now, almost pleading. He pressed his lips together. What did she want from him? What did she want him to say? "You are most creative in our festival hunts."

She did not understand. For that he was grateful; he laughed quietly. "Of course I use my head. I am always evaluating and calculating, Arwen. I just don't..." he bit his lip, realizing that what he was about to say would be, as truthful as it would be, devastating - "...feel."

A sad silence settled between them.

The sun was slanting lower into the horizon. The orange rays were becoming darker, casting long shadows behind the pair. Arwen watched her companion's fair face. The ivory skin and the golden hair were alight with the fire of the heavens. It suited him well; he was beautiful. And as she sat still, watching his slender figure bathed in the blood-red glow from the last fierce burn of the sun, she shuddered with a premonition. The ivory child, the beautiful youth who sat still and watched the grass dance about his feet, held a strangely dark whisper about him. A whisper that followed him despite his innocence. Perhaps innocence would be his downfall. A deep crimson shade of foreboding clouded her vision; her heart scorched.

Shaking her head to shake off the chilling premonition, she blinked. Legolas was watching her now, question in his eyes. She offered a weak smile.

"Do you feel anger at all, Legolas?" A tentative hand reached out and twirled several strands of the fiery blond hair. Without moving, Legolas watched the strands slide around her fingers. At length, Arwen pulled away, turning her gaze back toward the sun. Her eyes were ember, a dying firelight; he wondered what his eyes would look like in a dying sunlight. He would never know. He smiled bitterly, though he could not quite explain to himself why. Perhaps the brilliant flare of the last rays of the sun, the gentle breeze and the soft grass, the peace enhanced by the faraway trill of a bird, was making him melancholy. Perhaps the pain that had remained hidden and repressed was surfacing at this moment. But he refused to think of it further. Arwen deserved better than to witness his moment of doubt and self-pity.

They sat together in silence, until Arwen's soft voice slid into the air.

"My brothers never let me see them fight."

Legolas twirled grass in between his fingers. Arwen leaned forward, hugging her legs tighter.

"'Don't come with us,' they tell me. When I worry for their safety and wish to go with them, they hold me back. 'You will not like what you see.'" She smiled briefly, and the smile held no mirth. Her eyes were distant as she gazed toward the sun, her eyes lowered. "I thought they were talking about orcs. But when I started training as a healer, they took me out and taught me how to kill an orc – it cannot not be the sight of orcs and battle that they do not want me to see." She slowly turned her gaze toward her friend. Legolas' eyes were rooted upon the grass dancing around his fingers.

"They are angry," he murmured. Arwen looked at him sadly.

"Aye, they are angry. Because they wept when she left, because Ada fell ill almost to the point of death, because I spent my youth without a mother."

Legolas' eyes met Arwen's. She reached out; he gently grasped her hand. She turned back to the sun, as did her companion.

"Arwen," he whispered, "they wish to protect you."

"Against what, I wonder?" said Arwen quietly. "Or perhaps they seek to protect themselves. And against what, again I don't know." She sighed. Her breath was heavy, sad. "Perhaps they are the same thing."

Legolas squeezed her hand, sympathy glowing in his sad eyes. Arwen was wise beyond her years. And that was the seed of her sorrow.

Arwen let surface a weary smile. She blinked slowly. "Do you feel the same, Legolas?" Melancholy eyes searched into Legolas. "Do you also lose yourself in fury and vengeance?"

Legolas shook his head. "I am not as alive as your brothers."

He felt nothing – no rage, no grief. His body was a vessel trained for murder. He breathed deeply.

"If you see your brothers' battles, Arwen, you will weep. That is why they don't want you to see."

If you see my battles...you will fear. That is why I don't want you to see.

He kept his thoughts silent. His gaze evaded Arwen's, rooted on the setting sun.

"There is a difference between going off to seek revenge, and being forced to protect one's home."

Arwen lowered her gaze. Legolas released her hand. His eyes were downcast, lashes casting long shadows against his cheeks.

"I know what it is to lose a mother as well," he murmured. "But they keep coming and coming...when you are constantly warding them off, fighting for survival, vengeance grows dim." He smiled thinly. "And I grow weary."

A faint smile grazed Arwen's lips. Legolas smiled as well. "Ai, I sound so old."

"Necessities of life, dear brother." Arwen rose to her feet, and dusted herself. The sad thoughts and emotions seemed to be shaken off with her vigorous movements. "Let us get going before it gets too dark."

Taking Arwen's outstretched hand, Legolas pulled himself up to his feet as well. Turning to whistle to the horses, which were doubtlessly grazing somewhere nearby, he turned to cast a last glance back at the crimson sunset. He could not see the future, but he felt it more keenly than any seer.

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Twilight.

When they heard the arrow, it was too late. Arwen turned her horse wildly, only to have another arrow whiz past her ear. Horses neighed and bucked, panicking.

"Run!"

She needn't have been told.

The two broke into a gallop, desperately trying to outrun their pursuers. Human arrows did not fly far. If only they could run a bit ahead, then –

"Arwen!"

The scream tore into her ears. A violent pain burned into her side, and she was falling.

"Arwen! Arwen!"

The cries came nearer, and she was being supported by a strong arm. Rhythmic hoof beats pounded against her ears, eight legs aligned side by side. She distantly felt the body next to her turn, and she knew that Legolas had reached for his bow and arrows. She smiled faintly. So reliable, this naïve brother.

They had not run far in that position. The horses were uncomfortable being so close while galloping, but Legolas did not allow either horse to break away from each other. Continuing to hold up Arwen's failing body with his horse, he turned around, shooting arrow after arrow. And soon, he was turning toward her, reaching out toward her. And Arwen faintly felt her body being lifted, carried into strong arms, and heard comforting whispers in her ear. And then, blackness.

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Legolas glanced around as his horse continued to gallop. Night was falling. As much as he longed for the safety of the trees, Arwen's injury could not be neglected in the darkness. He had no choice but to abandon the comfort of the woods.

He led the horses out of the cover of the forest. Looking down at the limp body in his arms, he whispered another encouraging murmur. Pulling his unconscious friend close, he urged his horse to go faster. The human village was coming near.

It was pitch dark by the time the horses arrived. Pulling the reins, he leaped off of his horse, the limp body still in his arms. Deftly swathing Arwen in her dark cloak, he stormed into the middle of the town, and hastened toward the wooden multi-story building that stood out as an inn. The two horses trailed behind faithfully, as the townspeople turned to stare at the golden-haired stranger who had appeared with a heavily cloaked body in his arms.

When the innkeeper turned at the sound of the door, his mouth fell open. All banter and talk in the pub ceased as if frozen. A stunned silence hung in the air; all eyes were upon the radiant creature that stood at the entrance. The men in the town had never seen an elf before.

Eyes resolute, Legolas strode toward the innkeeper. "I need a room," he said quietly, urgently. Dumbfounded stare still riveted on the fair face of the elf, the innkeeper nodded. His hand reached out mechanically, palm upturned. The beautiful creature fumbled underneath the load in his arms, and took out a gold coin. He placed it on the table with a resolute gleam in his eyes.

The innkeeper stared blankly at the coin. Gold! He had never seen gold more than three times in his long years of inn keeping. He quickly snatched the coin, putting it away, and raised a trembling voice. "Galo!"

At once, a small, dark-haired boy poked his head in from the corner of the stairs. "Yes?"

"Guide this guest up to a room upstairs," instructed the innkeeper, curious gaze falling onto the body swathed in dark cloth. But almost instantly, pale hands tightened around the burden, pulling the body closer. The guarded blue eyes of the golden-haired creature met his gaze, a dangerous gleam burning in the frigid blue. A warning.

The innkeeper quickly stepped back, in a silent show of acquiescence.

The stranger followed the boy upstairs, and after a long moment of silence, the men began to talk again. And this time, their talk – gambling, women, ale, trade – was of nothing but excited whispers regarding this fair youth.

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**_To Be Continued_**

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**Rede**: Wow, I didn't expect that! I'm excited now; thank you! I do hope I didn't disappoint you with this chapter!

**Mornflower**: Haha, what do you think now? I love being evil. Hehe. Thank you for the review!

**KissTheRainGirl12489**: Haha, really? I go well with cliffies huh? I never thought of that. Hehe. Thank you for the review!

**Prism**: I am guessing that you have read some other stories by this lil' amateur here. ;) Thank you for popping up to leave me a review! What a delightful surprise.

**Megan**: Haha, did I make some things clear in this chapter? I hope you enjoyed! Thank you!

**Unsung Heroine**: Ooh, I am excited to hear that you are excited! ;) Thank you for the review!

**Deana**: Oops, this wasn't so soon – but I hope it was somewhat worth the wait! ;) Thank you!

**elvingirl3737**: Oh, so happy to hear that you are excited with the fic! ;) Thank you for telling me what you liked about the chapter! It is so helpful. ;)

**Brazgirl**: Oh, you came back to get through with the reviewing for me? How sweet of you! (hugs) Was that chapter different from my other stories? Thanks for pointing that out! ;) Now, I am off to rack my brains over how that happened...;) Anyway, the twins are off on their usual happy orc hunt. Hehe. Thank you for reviewing!

**merrymagic26**: Haha, did you get some answers now? Or did I further confuse you? I feel evil...;) Thank you for reviewing!

**Beling**: You and your overgenerous praises. ;) You are giving me such a big ego which I am sure I don't deserve. ;) It is so delightful to see you picking up subtle hints of relationships and personal turmoil in this story. I'm glad you like my Arwen! I become so nervous with these female characters and original characters - it's a relief to hear that they are not turning into...unwanted fandom characters, if you know what I mean. ;) Anyway, I thank you for your kindness once again. My classes are going well for me, and I am very much enjoying them all this quarter! ;) Liberal Arts and Literature have the power to open up new worlds and make you see the world more in perspective – but I am going off on a tangent here, so I'll stop. Thank you so much for being there mellon nin, you don't know how much it touches me to see your words. Take care of yourself!

**K'lara7**: Haha, don't worry. The prologue wasn't meant to be deciphered until later on anyway. I'm glad you like the story! Thank you for reviewing!

**Coolio02**: Good to see you again, my dear! Thank you for coming to review even with your busy schedule! Isn't school evil? ;)

**Templa Otmena**: Oh dear, your patience is amazing. ;) And you know that I want to say 'thank you' again for writing me another one of these long reviews despite the mean internet...;) I am happy to hear that you saw my revelations of danger so keenly. I was never very confident about action especially. ;) You always reveal to me what I do and what I mean before I realize myself what I had actually done. I suppose being the writer, I can never get a good perspective or a clear picture. ;) Thanks muchly. And as always you manage to fly back to my previous stories and their themes, and dig out the Universal that is ever on my mind...;) I wonder how your place received the news of the election? Northern coastal states are more liberal, probably due to the interaction with other cultures from abroad (the exposure to other cultures are probably what makes liberal arts students so open in their perspective of the world), and the history of northern support of abolition of slavery and cultural openness...but as for the inland states... ;) Thank you for your concern...sigh, I am now busily looking into ways to avoid getting drafted (the powers above tell us that will not happen, but...you know.) while keeping up with my studies and working on my musical repertoire which I must play at a wedding soon. Hence the late update...sorry I couldn't keep my promise to update during the weekend! Anyway, let me know about your trip abroad! It would be delightful to go on such trips...;) And as for your job, I first off congratulate you on getting the job! ;) And as for leaving...well, I can't criticize your choice because you didn't tell me what it was about the job you hated so much; but don't stress about it mellon, if you were so unhappy in there that you left so soon, it must have been the right decision. I had been pining away for an art class for my whole freshman year but when I miraculously got in this year, I quit after three lectures because I hated the professor. So I said bye bye to my art career, at least for the next few years, but I believe it was worth being free from the professor. Your mental health comes first, mellon nin! Never give yourself less than the best of treatment! And weekly pays by hand? Hmmm, you could have gotten ripped off anyway. Think about the possible bad things you freed yourself from, and be happy! ;) I'm happy for you! I think you made a healthy and self-respecting choice! (Bounce Bounce Bounce) Take care, mellon nin! I fervently wish you safe and happy! ;)


	5. In the Night

**Disclaimer**: I do not own LOTR.

**Rating**: PG-13

**Author's Note**: I am sorry for the late update! I would give you reasons but since nobody would really want to see them, I will just offer you my apologies and a longer chapter than usual. I give my hugs and kisses to all who waited!

My sincere thanks to **Rhys**, who reviewed many chapters in _Tears of Yesterday_! I am ecstatic to hear that you were so touched by the story. Your view of the story as a whole, seeing the abstract ties that binds the story and its characters, is beautiful. And I'm glad to hear that you liked my Erestor and Glorfindel's relationship! ;) Thank you for your wonderful reviews, and thank you for wishing me a happy birthday! ;)

Thank you to **Sunn****-Kissed**, who reviewed _Unfinished Earth_! I am so flattered to hear your generous praises. I still consider myself as an amateur, and I respond to reviews through the format in which they were given to me...I would respond to you via email if you prefer, but I wasn't sure that would be appropriate, so I am responding here. ;) Thank you!

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**_By Kasmi Kassim_**

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**_From Twilight to Dawn_**

**_Chapter 4: In the Night _**

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The inn was larger than it looked. Legolas followed the small boy silently through the dark hallway, straining his ears to hear the quiet breathing of his unconscious companion. The squeaking of the wood beneath his feet added to the haunted hush of the corridor, so different from the gaiety downstairs. He could hear tremors of Arwen's breaths in the dark.

"Here is your room," said the boy, turning a rusty handle to a door at the end of the corridor. The dark brown wood opened with a creak, revealing an unlit room laden with a heavy scent of aging wood. The moderately spacious chamber was hushed; time seemed to slow to a standstill within the confines of the room, where the table and two chairs seemed to breathe in silence, as did the large white bed by the window.

Legolas stepped in slowly, and the boy scurried in after him, lighting lamps and candles until the room seemed to stir from its slumber, the darkness retreating at the face of vivacious life. The boy scuttled about busily, smoothening out sheets, organizing pillows, setting chairs. And then he stepped aside, watching in fascination, as Legolas gently lowered the black bundle onto the bed.

"Do you require anything?" he inquired hopefully.

Legolas did not look back as he busied himself with making Arwen comfortable. "Yes, if you would be so kind," he said, bending over and shifting the body of his companion around. "I need a basin of hot water, some soft cloth and bandages, and herbs, if you have any."

"Don't you need a healer?" asked the boy, surprised. The young stranger shook his head.

"Please do not tell anyone about this," he murmured. Nodding enthusiastically, the boy promptly dashed off.

After a brief glance to make sure that the door was shut, Legolas quickly ran his fingers through a pouch of herbs that he carried. Having found what he needed, he pulled out a small vial of green liquid. A sickening stench filled the room as he opened it. Gently lifting Arwen's dark head from the pillow, he proceeded to trickle a small amount of the liquid in between her lips. She remained unconscious and the potion dribbled down her chin; wiping it gently with a finger, he made sure the content had settled in between her lips, and sealed the vial with satisfaction.

"Fight it, Arwen," he whispered, tucking the vial away. He tenderly stroked dark strands of hair out of her face, whispering soft murmurs as the figure on the bed lay motionless. Eyes lowered, he remained still, an image of perfect serenity. But in the silence of the still room, his heart thundered with fear and anguish, threatening to be shattered by a rapidly transforming confusion, a rumbling magma of venom that churned beneath.

He could no longer ignore them. The men would have his answer.

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The innkeeper did not admonish Galo as he went about making a fuss about preparing the items that the stranger had requested. He was thankful for that, if not a bit surprised. How much had that stranger paid anyway? He had to be very rich, to make his employer so generous. But he did not look very wealthy at all. But then again, looks were deceiving. At least, that was what his brother had said.

"Galo."

He cringed at the voice of the innkeeper. Straightening his back, he turned and politely faced his warden. "Yes?"

The innkeeper was cocking an eyebrow in his direction. "Are you going to take care of the horses?"

Oh, yes, he had forgotten. He had briefly glimpsed the two horses, one white and one chestnut brown, which were said to belong to the stranger. He quickly scooped up the bundle of items in his arms. "He asked me for some assistance. I will do it later." He darted up the stairs.

The innkeeper sighed.

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When he returned to the room, Galo was surprised to find that the dark figure on the bed was no longer a wrapped-up body. A lovely maiden sat on the mattress, leaning against the headboard, as the blond-haired youth spoke to her softly, seated at her side and facing her. She turned her dark eyes upon Galo as he entered.

The slender youth stood and approached. "Thank you," he smiled, and took the items from Galo's hands. He set them up on the bed, and began to swiftly prepare what was undoubtedly a medical examination. So he was a healer then. He looked so surprisingly young – too young to be anything more than a beginning apprentice. Galo lingered where he was, afraid to go closer, but too rapt to leave.

The dark-haired maiden turned her gaze toward her companion, and spoke softly. When he grunted in response, busily examining and classifying herbs, she smiled and turned back toward Galo.

"Are you the son of the innkeeper?" she inquired, her soft voice edged by a feathery touch of a foreign accent.

Galo shook his head. Her voice was kind. He swallowed.

"You only work for him, then." The maiden winced as she tried to raise her arm to help her companion. The golden-haired creature shook his head and murmured a short phrase. Galo could not understand the words. Though unintelligible, however, the words were pleasant to the ear, possessing a mysteriously gentle, rolling quality.

"I am an orphan, and he took me in." Galo fidgeted. "So I work for him."

The maiden seemed surprised. She turned toward her companion, speaking rapidly in some sort of inquiry. He shook his head and replied in a soft voice, a smile lacing his face. She turned back toward Galo.

"Forgive me," she said with haste, "I did not realize...I mean, where we come from, orphans are all raised by their ruler. We...I...have never stayed in a human settlement before."

Galo's eyes bulged.

"Gwathel." A gentle voice of warning rolled from the male youth's lips. The maiden flinched, guiltily bringing a finger to her lips. The blond youth glanced up with an accusing glare and an exasperated smile. She smiled sheepishly in return.

Galo, meanwhile, dashed to the door and locked it breathlessly. Turning back toward the amused occupants on the bed, he stared, his chest heaving. "You are not human?" he whispered with awe. He knew a secret about the mysterious, beautiful travelers; his heart could burst with excitement.

The two travelers glanced at each other again. The male one – at least he sounded male, though Galo could not be certain, considering the beauty of his face – turned toward Galo with a slight smile. "We are elves."

The dark-haired maiden smiled as well. "But you cannot tell anyone."

Mouth agape, the boy nodded eagerly. He shared a secret with these enigmatic people from afar. He would never ever betray them; he swore silently that he never would.

Forcing his hanging mouth shut, he looked wildly from one elf to another. "My name is Galo."

The elves looked at each other. The maiden murmured something, and her companion rubbed his forehead, a worried frown creasing his smooth skin. He turned with some reluctance toward the boy, and his mellow voice and eyes shimmered with an apologetic smile. "We have no names to give you. We are merely travelers."

Galo could not hide his disappointment. "I see," he muttered.

As the blond elf returned to sorting out herbs, Galo still stood where he was, his other work forgotten. His voice was excited once again. "Do all elves look as beautiful as you do?" he blurted.

The elves looked at each other in mild surprise. The maiden said something to her companion in a teasing tone, and he muttered something with a sigh. Laughing softly, and wincing at a sudden attack of pain at her side, the maiden turned back to Galo.

"Thank you, Galo. But we are not exceptionally beautiful among our people."

Galo's mouth fell open.

The blond elf looked up, and said something in an accusing tone. The maiden answered back indignantly, and pointed her finger at him, returning the accusation. The male elf made a face, and the maiden burst into a soft laughter.

Suddenly wishing that he could understand this melodic language, Galo interjected again.

"Are you two eloping?"

Now this question grabbed their full attention; the young male's hands halted in the middle of his task. Both elves turned and stared at the boy, stupefied. And then, both burst into laughter. "No," answered the maiden, suddenly breathless, as she was burned with sudden pain. "We are siblings."

The blond head shot up, and he watched her with concern. He said something, and she shook his head. He said something again, in a stronger tone, and then his voice took on a softer timber, a gentle plea. The maiden looked long at him, and sighed.

"Are you sixteen? Seventeen?" Galo tried again. The maiden looked only slightly older, if at all. Perhaps a year or two.

The maiden held her pained expression, and the male elf began to shuffle through his belongings with a sense of urgency. "Yes, something close to that," he said absentmindedly. Then he turned.

"Would you be so kind as to see to our horses? They have run a long way, and must be very tired-"

"Yes, of course!" Eyes twinkling, the boy ran to the door, unlocked it, and disappeared from view. The room was swept up in his excitement, the draft continuing to shake the bed sheets long after the door slammed. The serene silence took long to settle back in.

At last, Arwen sighed. "Children."

Legolas was rolling up his sleeves. "Lie down."

Arwen's gaze flitted back toward her companion. Azure blue looked into hesitant orbs of gray. And he smiled reassuringly.

"I am a healer, Arwen." He touched her shoulder. "And you are my sister."

His touch was gentle, warm. Arwen breathed deeply. Her eyes widened when she felt warmth probing into her shoulder; the fear and uneasiness that were clouding her heart began to drain away. She turned to protest, but Legolas shook his head. He pressed more insistently.

With slow movements, Arwen complied with his request, lying to her side. The warmth was gaining force, and her nervousness was rapidly disappearing. The darker corners of her mind that held unpleasant memories – such as tension with her father – were left untouched; Legolas did not invade her privacy, but nevertheless succeeded in cleansing much of the tucked-away resentment. Her mind felt relaxed, warm. Arwen wondered if she should give in to his gentle probing and let him drain away her dark emotions resulting from trouble with her father. It was tempting; her golden-haired brother was a kindhearted healer. He would be able to feel it all, take it away, pamper her with warmth and love and healing. But Arwen quickly admonished herself; Legolas seemed to carry enough burdens as was. She could not ask him to share her troubles by passing on more comfort.

She was lost in thought as her fingers unlaced her dress. Legolas averted his gaze, and finally took his hand away. He turned once more to the vials of liquid that emerged from his pouch. Arwen pulled the garment off of her skin gingerly.

"You will drain yourself," she murmured, letting the upper portion of the garment hang down from her bare torso. "Will you not let me heal your heart as well?"

Legolas smiled wistfully from behind. He reached up to his hair, and deft fingers tied the blond tresses behind his back. "I am already drained," he said lightly. "I do not have enough energy to ease your physical pain completely as I do this. Stay still."

Arwen narrowed her eyes as she felt hands on her bare torso. Slow fingers brushed dark hair out of the smooth planes of her back and side, letting the tresses fall over the curves and slopes of her body. "Legolas."

What are you hiding? Why do you hesitate to let me look into your mind? To heal your heart? The questions swirled in her head in a wild dance. But she said nothing.

Silence hung heavily as experienced hands began to tend to her wounds. Arwen hissed, sucking in her breath. Gentle glimmers of healing magic emanated from his hands, offering solace against the pain. She shut her eyes.

The stillness of the silence was broken by Legolas' voice. His hands did not falter.

"I am still unsure, Arwen." The voice was weary, and surprisingly young. "I don't want you to...I...still have so many questions. Maybe after this is over..."

Legolas' hands regained their surety when he saw the dark head give a small nod. His gaze turned back to her naked torso, sweeping imperturbably over the dark rivulets of hair that hid her front from his view. The gaping wound lay bare before him, foul and venomous amid the smooth texture of unmarred skin. No blood seeped from the wound; the flesh was yellow, almost a sickly hue of green. He took a deep breath and resumed his ministrations.

After the second hiss of pain had died down, he reached for the soft cloth resting against the basin by his side. After dumping the cloth into the warm water, he pulled out the fabric, and wringed it, his focused eyes never leaving the wound. Unrolling the cloth, he slowly reached toward the injury. Arwen's breath hitched as the fabric touched poisoned flesh without the aid of pain-numbing magic. He was indeed drained. Arwen realized with a twinge of guilt that he had absorbed much of her fear and uncertainty in exchange for the comfort.

When the cloth touched her skin again, Arwen's body reflexively jerked, and Legolas' other hand reached out to gently grasp the slope of her smooth hip, holding her in place. The soft body tensed as she battled the urge to pull away. Attempting to control her breath, Arwen's eyelids fluttered rapidly, counting her inhalations as she felt Legolas swiftly rubbing away the poison with dabs of potion.

"After my mother died, my father began to take over her chores."

Caught by surprise, Arwen looked up and glanced back, scanning the blue eyes that were lowered onto the wound that his hands so gently and swiftly cleaned. He pulled the cloth away, and she let out a breath she had been holding. She could hear a soft trickle of water as he wetted and wringed the cloth again.

"He would tell me stories by the fire, sing me to sleep, go into the forest to pick berries with me..." a nostalgic smile could be detected in the voice. Despite her pains, Arwen let a faint smile surface on her contorted face as well. The sweetness of the memories seemed to fill the room, as if an echo of a childish laughter would ring in her ears at the very moment. It was a strange contrast, this phantasmal peace, to the dark pain that seared her mind and fought to devour the chamber.

"I would come back with scratches from playing outside, and he would hold me as the healer tended to the wounds."

A new burn touched her skin, and she knew that he had begun to probe into her wounded flesh. Valar, it hurt. She bit her lip, tensing under his gentle hold, which was more a reminder than a restraint. Pressing her head against the pillow, she panted, straining to hear the soft voice that rolled on melodiously with the trickling waters, drowning out the intensity of the pain.

His hands worked tenderly, carefully, as his voice spoke quietly, smoothly – easing the pain, soothing the burn. "In a young age, I learned to endure pain, but would nonetheless whine about it out of habit."

Arwen shut her eyes, clenching her teeth as another burn attacked her side.

Legolas' eyes were glowing with concentration as he performed his task. His voice did not falter as his hands failed to create another glimmer of magic. "It soon became customary for him to hold me whenever a healer was near, regardless of the seriousness of the injury."

A withheld breath was roughly released, a short laughter mingling with an agonizing pant. He smiled as well. The body was relaxing.

"And one day, when he was coming into the healing ward, I was lying on my back, and..."

And so the voice rolled on, smooth and melodious in the hushed chamber, enveloping the burn of agony.

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Erestor sighed, rubbing his eyes. He wished Elrond was back, though that was hardly possible, since the lord of the valley had left as soon as Legolas had departed. But he still wished Elrond was here. The advisor was weary.

Stretching with the languid grace of a cat, he rose to his feet. He briefly wondered if Elrond had reached his destination yet. The trip to Mirkwood was long. The elvenlord had muttered something about Thranduil and frayed bonds and misunderstandings before leaving in a hurry, leaving all to whisper in confusion. Erestor and Glorfindel had held calm expressions as they watched the elvenlord ride away alone, and the others had whispered at this, once again thoroughly impressed with the wisdom of the two lords and their deep bond to Lord Elrond. The pair, one light and one dark, had walked serenely back to Glorfindel's rooms only to smile at each other and shake their heads to the silent question that passed between them. Though they did understand the elvenlord better than many, they certainly could not read his mind; they were only confident enough in their ties of friendship, aged and experienced enough in the turbulences of the world, to be able to wait in leisurely patience until the return of the elusive elvenlord.

Though that did not diminish the vague shadow of foreboding Erestor had felt ever since seeing the young prince gallop into the valley weeks ago.

With a weary sigh, the chief councilor stared down at the stack of scrolls on the writing table. He had succeeded in signing his approval – and sorting out those that did not meet it – on the many plans and petitions from the artisans and house runners, despite the interruptions that had presented themselves in the form of a certain charming elvenlord who usually invited himself to the chief councilor's workspace when he was most tired and cheerfully dragged him out to take a walk or a ride. But despite having been thusly entertained –according to Glorfindel, of course, for Erestor preferred to say _annoyed_– by the blond elvenlord earlier that day, Erestor found himself wishing for another such distraction. He was getting a terrible headache from the constant foreboding of darkness that whispered in his ears lately. The humans were not helping either.

With another weary sigh, Erestor resolutely pushed the scrolls away into a neat pile at the corner of the table and walked toward the window. Thoughtful black eyes gazed out toward the peaceful gardens. Summer was coming; the air was warm. Moonlight touched the silver leaves with hushed tranquility. Erestor tilted his head. Perhaps the valley had been a bit too peaceful; the inhabitants were swallowing the latest gossip concerning the humans with ravenous excitement. The thought of danger and mystery seemed to enthrall them with irrepressible allure. The rumors spread fast, especially if they ever passed through – which was rare, for they usually sprouted from – the notorious kitchens. The simple fact was that two men had gotten into a brawl within Imladris borders, and had pleaded for sanctuary when threatened to be thrown out of the land. The elven warriors had brought them in for questioning. And when questioned, the men had both insisted that the other was at fault, and had expressed such intense hatred toward each other that all elves who had seen them had no doubt that they would try to kill each other at the first chance they were given. So they had been locked away into separate quarters, prepared for a judgment before the ruler of the land that they had dishonored. But the problem lay in the fact that the lord of the valley was not present at the moment.

That was not exactly a problem, of course, if one followed Glorfindel's irrefutable logic. Erestor was the lord when Elrond was absent, and he had every right to exercise his authority in such an occasion in any way he saw fit, for his actions would never contradict the thoughts of the elvenlord. But that did not mean Erestor had to like this situation. Having to judge humans that were out to slaughter each other over a seemingly trivial cause – and in another people's land too, for Valar's sake – was simply distasteful, not much different from having to judge right and wrong between two screaming children who were fighting over a toy.

But there was no other choice to be had. Erestor was the chief councilor, one of the two great authorities who influenced the valley behind the scenes. And he had heard enough encouragements and flatteries this morning to make him roll his eyes, all of which came from the other great hidden authority of the land, a certain annoyingly clever and loveable elvenlord who knew well how much Erestor was tempted to leave the men locked up until the lord of the valley returned.

With a deep exhalation, Erestor straightened his robes and straightened his hair in one fluid movement, and blew out the candles lighting the study. He then exited the chamber in his trademark gait, a calm bearing radiating subtle authority and hidden power with a gentle wave of sleek dark robes. And in this quiet gait, he glided toward the end of the corridor leading to the main hall.

When he entered, all eyes turned toward him with anticipation. Dressed in deep gray, his body glided gracefully toward the high seat in the center of the hall, his hair lapping gently against his shadowy form. His dark eyes were expressionless and sharp, watching the two humans that kneeled before him. As he neared the seat and lowered himself, his eyes did not leave the dumbstruck gaze of the humans; he held an aura of mysterious power, a shrouded darkness that was ever keen, ever watching, ever waiting for a chance to completely obliterate anything he wished with calm, collected ease.

The men swallowed. Elven guards lined the hall, as did scribes and councilors interspersed between them. The hall was lit with bright golden lights, though where the lamps were they could not ascertain. Excitement could be felt in the thrill of the air, as they were now a spectacle on display before the elven audience. They shifted nervously. The rest of the residents were not allowed into the hall out of respect to the humans, though they were undoubtedly crowded outside, pressing their ears against the great double doors. The ones who were privileged enough to attend the hearing were deathly still and silent.

The humans stared at the silent elvenlord before them, finally evading their eyes upon meeting the unflinching black gaze that bore into them with intensity. They both looked down onto the carpet, bewildered. This was Lord Elrond? He was much younger than they had thought. Why was he not saying anything?

"My lord," said one man with a deep inhalation, making a deep bow. The elf on the high seat brought a hand up to his heart and bowed in return.

"Greetings to you, my lords," he said quietly, his gaze unfaltering. "What brings you before me to be judged?"

"I demand justice!" cried the other man, who had remained silent all this time. He glared angrily at his companion, and hissed, "Have mercy, my lord, and punish this wicked creature!"

The slender elf before them did not seem affected by this outburst. "I would have you explain," he said, unperturbed. "However, I am compelled to remind you both that you have intruded into our realm and defiled it with your bloody attempts at kin-slaying, and therefore are subject to the mercy of the land's ruler."

Both men fell silent. The first man who spoke quickly bowed his head. "Of course, my lord, I beg forgiveness," he murmured hastily, and glanced at his still-seething companion. "However, I only come to seek sanctuary-"

"As do I!" cried the other man. The elves in the hall looked at one another. Scribes were furiously writing on parchments laid upon portable wooden slates. Councilors were watching with sharp, scrutinizing eyes. Spears and scabbards gleamed in the hands of the guards.

The slender elf with the dark hair raised his eyebrows. "And why do you seek sanctuary in Rivendell?"

The men both looked at each other.

"We met an elf called Legolas in the woods," said the first man, measuring his words. "He said he was being chased by this man here. This brute plans to kill him."

"Lies!" bellowed the second man. "This is the man who tried to kill Lord Legolas! I only came to warn him!"

The elf watched both of them in silence. He did not seem in the least confused or fazed. "I see," he said in the same quiet voice. "But how do I know which one of you to believe?"

The men seemed to be dumbstruck by the simple question. The elf had an unquestionable charisma to him, an undemanding and yet undeniable vibration that seemed to transform even the simplest words from his lips into beautiful, shocking, cutting-edge remarks.

The first man quickly edged forward. "Summon him, my lord," he said eagerly. "If he sees us, surely he will recognize us and tell you which one is telling the truth."

The black-haired elf watched them for a moment longer. "So you were fighting only because you feared for his life."

Both men nodded enthusiastically. Then they glared at each other.

The elf in the high seat interlocked his fingers neatly upon his lap. He looked like a statue, composed and still in the perfect posture of serenity, not a fold of his garments wrinkled and not a strand of hair astray.

"Lord Legolas is not here," he said evenly, eyes on the men, "but I will let you see him as soon as he returns. Until then, you will stay in the guest quarters. Lord Elrond will decide what to do with you two once he returns."

At this, the men looked at each other, stunned. One of them turned back to the elf. "You mean you are not Lord Elrond?" he stammered.

The dark-haired elf only looked steadily at him. An elf to his side spoke – a brown-haired councilor of the architecture sector.

"He is Lord Erestor, the chief councilor of the Rivendell council, personal advisor to Lord Elrond, and the head of the Last Homely House. You owe him the same respect and humility that you owe Lord Elrond."

The other man burst out in fury. "We have been groveling at the feet of a second-in-command?" He looked around, rage outlining his creased face. "Why must we obey this elf? I cannot believe this! I refuse to be ordered by this elf! We are not criminals, for Mordor's sake! I have a right to be shown to the lord of the valley!"

He stopped short, however, when he felt cold steel press against the skin of his neck.

"You forget yourself, human," glided a rich baritone from behind, as the steel trailed a lazy path down his back. The ice that laced the calm voice sent a chill down his spine. "But since you demand freedom of choice so fervently, I shall give you the freedom to choose between respect for Lord Erestor and an eternal union with my blade."

The man swallowed nervously, petrified into stillness. The hall fell into a silence. No one moved.

With a brusque wave of his hand, the raven-haired elf rose gracefully from his seat. "Do not trouble yourself, Lord Glorfindel," he said nonchalantly, turning away. Dark robes swirled in the sightline of the men before moving out of their view. "If they insist on being judged by the Peredhil family, they shall not be denied. The sons of Lord Elrond shall judge them tomorrow. You are all dismissed."

Before anyone could voice an objection, the raven hair was gone.

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The moonlight was streaming in through the window, marking a solid white square upon the floor. Legolas' eyes were riveted on that illuminated wood as he sat still, listening to the silence of the night. Arwen, now a dark black bundle on the bed by the window, was sleeping deeply. She did not stir once; Legolas had risen from his position on the floor to stand hunched over her and listen to her breathing several times through the night, knowing that she was well but unable to dispel the fear from his mind. He had not slept at all; his senses were keenly alert. There was a shadow stirring, a foul scent of greed and deception surrounding him. He had been in human settlements several times before, and knew enough about them to detect the gleam in their gazes when they laid eyes upon him, an unfamiliar elf. Thankfully they had not seen Arwen, and if the little boy kept his word, no one would know that he was with a lovely maiden. But at least the innkeeper had seen the gold, and human rumors spread fast. And many humans were unhesitant of taking drastic measures to obtain objects of desire that were not theirs to take.

His eyes glittered sharply as he felt a faint tremor of life behind the door. He did not move. In his hand appeared awhite-handled knife, dark and invisible in the black of the night. Shifting his eyes away from the white square in the middle of the floor, he darted his gaze toward the solid wooden door that touched his back, focusing his senses on the approaching footsteps. The humans were evidently trying to be silent, but he could hear every breath they took.

A faint rustling and tinkering could be heard as the door lock was picked from outside. Still sitting on the floor with his back touching the door, Legolas did not move. The doorknob turned slowly. Legolas' bright eyes glowed with torrents of calculations and decisions.

Silently, he rose to his feet. As soon as he stepped away from the door, the door swung open, blocked mid-swing by Legolas' foot. He swiftly lunged at the first man who poked his head in.

With a loud crash, the man fell back onto the men who were lined up behind him. They all fell down like a wave. When they looked up from their confusion, the door had already closed with a click, cutting off the film of moonlight that had shone from within the room. They breathed heavily, whispering at one another to get off, looking around warily in the dark. What just happened?

At last, one of them spotted a flash of blond hair wavering before his eyes. He panicked, realizing too late that the occupant of the room was now standing with them in the corridor, in that same narrow space that trapped them all. But before he could scramble away or fight back, he fell unconscious onto the floor.

It took no more than ten breaths for Legolas to finish the task. Straightening his back warily, he looked down at the pile of four men sprawled on the ground. He looked around, wondering if he should drag them all downstairs at this hour. But he did not dare leave Arwen alone in the room. With a resigned sigh, he picked up the men one by one – as they were now sporting fractured bones in the leg area, all of them – and proceeded to drag them away from his door, dumping them at the end of the corridor where the stairs started. Resisting the temptation to kick them all down the stairs, he turned, and promptly disappeared into his room.

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**_To Be Continued_**

**_'_**

_-_**Sindarin**** Translations**_-_

_Gwathel__: sworn sister_

_'_

**Coolio02**: Haha, thank you! I'm sorry to make you wait!

**Deana**: Here's the post! Thank you! ;)

**Rede**: I am glad to hear it! I hope I don't disappoint you...;)

**merrymagic26**: Oh, really? I am so happy to hear that! Thank you for letting me know!

**Unsung Heroine**: You don't know what an honor it is to be told that I made someone's day better! I'm glad! (hugs)

**Brazgirl**: Haha, I thought I would get that question from you. I recall what Gallo means in Spanish, but no, I actually had no such intentions on my mind, because this is Middle Earth after all. ;) I just picked the name Galo because it sounded like one of those human names. I made Legolas younger than Arwen because she seemed more careworn, for lack of better words. I think Legolas would know more about the world and the wild, since he travels on his father's behalf – Arwen's trips to and from Lorien notwithstanding – but I also see Arwen as the wiser and more mature of the two. Legolas just seemed so much more naïve than Arwen in the movies, you know? ;) And the men's intentions...well, you will see, my dear! ;) I hope your life is being kinder to you now!

**Beling**: My dear, it is positively heartwarming to see you pick up so much from my humble little stories. Your vision of Legolas and Arwen, and your understanding of their psyche, were beautiful! You are seeing so much of the dilemma that I laid out in Legolas, and hope to cultivate in the future. I'm so glad I came back to writing this! ;) Thank you, mellon nin! How are you doing, I wonder? I hope you had a very happy Thanksgiving!

**Templa**** Otmena**: Oops, that was not very soon...but I did try to come back to posting as soon as I was able! ;) I wonder how your job and education dilemmas are working out...and did you have fun at the movies? ;) Anyway, I would thank you once again for your effort in sending me the review through the ever-uncooperative fanfiction net site...;) I am so relived to hear that my depictions are presentable. Your expressions were so detailed and beautiful! And you caught my drift with the friendship between men and elves...you shall see more of that in the future, my dear! Keke. I do wish you well on your career search and trip plans...I am quite interested in Britain by the way; does Britain do that free college education thing like the rest of Europe? Ah anyway...the wedding...we are hired this time by some high-society politician family and an elitist church that says 'no secular music, only classical' (strange how that works, because most classical pieces are secular...) Well anyway. I didn't know that you had a fall! Are you not recovered? No doctor? No physical therapy, acupuncture, or anything? You have to heal it! Aghhhh! Take care!!

**elvingirl3737**: Haha, I am glad to hear that! I can never tire of reviews! Thank you!


	6. Ominous Footsteps

**Disclaimer**: I do not own LOTR.

**Rating**: PG – 13

**Author's Note**: I apologize once again for the late update – I am struggling with agonizing dilemmas in my life. Twenty has to be the suckiest age in life. But anyway, sorry for the lateness, and thank you for waiting!

Thank you to **Little-Legolas-Lover** for reviewing so many of my stories!

Thank you also to **anonymous slashlover** for reviewing many chapters of _Tears of Yesterday_! It was a pleasure to see your wonderful reviews. Thank you so much for your flattering compliments – and I'm glad that you read the story the way you wanted to, instead of asking me questions on how to interpret the character relationships or demanding that I make them a certain way. My stories are open to interpretation. Thank you and I'm glad you enjoyed it!

And I thank **Erestor** for wishing me a happy birthday, and for leaving wonderful reviews for every chapter of the story belatedly! I am glad to hear that you like Thranduil! He is my sweet tooth, you see. And I'm honored to hear that you like my Legolas and Arwen – and to hear that my stories are the re-readable type! I'm delighted! And Erestor and Glorfindel – yes, they are my sweet teeth too! Hehehe. They have important parts to play in this story, as does Thranduil – I hope I don't disappoint you! And you have no reason to be intimidated; you are a fantastically witty author with endless tricks up her sleeve! Thank you so much! It's such a pleasure to see you take a trip down my lane of stories. ;)

And thank you also to **Templa**** Otmena** for reviewing _Tears of Yesterday_ on **Stories of Arda** site...I am sorry to say that the story is down now, because some readers thought it wasn't canon enough and didn't want to see the site being tainted with an AU story, and the moderator asked me to take it down. ;) Oops, haha. Well, read it on the FF net, my dear...;)

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**_by_****_ Kasmi Kassim_**

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**_Chapter 5: Ominous Footsteps_**

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The morning was still dark when Legolas pulled his horse out of the stables. He whispered soothing words and stroked the steed's neck, as the horse looked pointedly at the saddle that was resting on the wooden shelves nearby. Legolas ignored the saddle, and leaped onto the steed's back. Arwen's chestnut brown horse grunted in displeasure at being left behind; glancing back with an apologetic smile, Legolas took a light hold of his horse's mane, and instantly cantered off. The sun was not yet rising.

It had been an uneasy experience, staying in a dark wooden room in a man's lodging – but it was not unbearable. Arwen kept a cheery countenance, and so did he. She was healing well; they would be able to leave soon. He hoped it would be very soon. He was accustomed to the awed stares he received from humans, but did not want to risk staying any longer than necessary with Arwen as his companion. Heeding his warning, Arwen had not stepped out of the room once – not only because she was still weak, but also because Legolas speculated that feminine beauty of that caliber would undoubtedly cause a tremendous stir. The last thing they needed was attention in the human town; they still did not know if they were yet being pursued by those mysterious men.

Which was why he had come out in the break of daylight.

He began to slow his horse down, after having traveled a good distance away from the village. Looking around as his horse ambled on, he creased his brows in concentration, listening and feeling the air for suspicious tremors. He was not surprised when his senses caught human movement nearby. They were being followed.

However, he could no longer avoid them, or try to outrun them. He could not allow Arwen to fight by his side against men who seemed intent on pursuing him; furthermore, Arwen had already taken the brunt of their ill will. Legolas bit his lip thoughtfully. There was no running away, no turning back. For Arwen's protection, he would slay the men if necessary.

Although he prayed it would not come to that.

The wind bit his face. He shook his head, clearing his vision. What did they hope to accomplish? What did they want from him?

Thoughtfully, he swung his horse to another direction, still listening. The men had said something about Mirkwood. And they had attacked as soon as Legolas claimed ties to it. Perhaps they wanted a ransom? But they did not even know who he was; they could not prove to the Mirkwood elves that he was kin. Perhaps they planned to torture him in that case?

With a slight frown, Legolas pensively looked around, ordering his restless mount to be still. The air was impure.

Not only were their intentions suspicious, but their actions were as well. What did they do to him after rendering him unconscious? Why did he regain coherent thought only to find himself running in unknown terror? What had happened?

He looked up toward the rising sun. Perhaps there was nothing extraordinary about it. Perhaps his honed senses had managed to cover for his lack of conscious thought. Perhaps he had fought them off and escaped by instinct. It had happened before.

He sighed. No answers would be forthcoming this way. He began to urge his horse back toward the town.

The only thing of which he was certain was that he had to move away from this human settlement soon, before rumors spread even further about a traveling elf. He and Arwen had to leave fast, and continue on their way for Lorien. Hopefully, they would encounter no further trouble along the way.

He was trotting back toward the village when he spotted a tiny creature moving toward him in a distance. Brows furrowed, he galloped forth to meet the boy. It was the inn boy – Galo.

"Master Elf! Master Elf!" the boy panted, bending down to breathe heavily as he stopped before the horse. "You must come quickly!"

A flash of alarm grazed calm blue eyes. "What happened?" he asked, patting his unnerved horse to keep it still.

The boy was clinging onto the animal's leg for support as he continued to labor his lungs. "Big men came," he panted, "they asked for an elf, and the innkeeper showed them to your room!"

Without warning, Legolas reached down and grabbed the boy's arm. Before the boy could yelp, his small body was swinging in the air, and he landed on the horse's back. The horse broke into a full-speed gallop.

Galo sucked in his breath. He clung fearfully to the horse's neck, narrowing his eyes in the wind, as a brisk tenor rang behind his ears.

"Tell me what happened."

Galo shook his head to clear his eyes of hair. It did not work very well.

"They were dressed dark," he began breathlessly. "They heard of an elf in town, and came to get you-" he coughed as sand assaulted his open mouth.

"And?" The hands around his waist were tense.

"I ran up to your sister's room to tell her that she had company, and she told me to get inside, and locked the door." Galo shook his head again, but only managed to get more hair into his eyes. "She took out a sword and told me to bring you quickly. So I climbed out the window and slid down that big, tall tree by the window."

Legolas' lip slowly rolled between clenched teeth. Arwen was still unwell. She could not fight a band of men alone. He could not leave her to fight alone.

He tightened his hold around the small boy. "Run," he whispered to his galloping steed, desperation lacing his voice. "Run fast."

_Please, Arwen_, he begged silently, hearing again the bright laughter of his dear friend and sister, _be__ safe..._

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A dark-haired elf by the side door announced the young lords of Imladris. The two men looked up quickly, a sparkle entering their eyes. They were once again kneeling on the carpeted floor, treated with polite sternness, awaiting the arrival of the true lords of Rivendell. They needed no meddling advisor to try to take over the elvenlord's role, telling them what to do. Besides, the young lords of the valley, they had heard, were very young. The stars were smiling down upon them today.

As the door opened, the humans bowed their heads, but sneaked a glance upward. From the side entrance appeared two flowing blue robes, flapping vigorously as youthful bodies found their way up to the two high seats that had been prepared in the center of the hall. The identical figures bowed in return, grace outlining their vibrant figures.

The two humans stared. These two were so different from the dark-haired elf from the day before. They held none of the sinister shadow that the previous one had borne. No silent, penetrating gazes. These two were young. Undoubtedly, they were only barely of age. This was going to be easier than they had thought.

The two identical faces turned toward them. Their faces held no distinguishable emotion, but they were not as frightfully blank as the advisor had been either. They bore a light air of composed calm, resting alongside a youthful aura of vigor. Sea blue robes flapped as they seated themselves with casual grace, watching. Then one of them spoke to his twin in a smooth, rolling language that the men could not grasp.

The humans froze in mild panic. They had not realized the previous day that the elves were speaking in the common tongue. They did not realize that they were foreigners here, intruders, perhaps even helpless – until the twins began conversing in their own language, eyes still watching them.

Finally, the two fair faces turned back toward the men. The men swallowed nervously.

One of the twins spoke.

"We understand that you two come to seek sanctuary, and to warn us of danger." The voice was smooth, melodic.

The two men nodded eagerly. Then turned to each other, and snarled.

The other twin spoke. His voice was identical to the first.

"When did you meet Lord Legolas?"

One of the men swallowed. "I met him several days ago – we were in a pub."

The other man hastily joined in. "I met him in the woods of Mirkwood, half a moon from now. He was on horseback. He offered me water, when I was dying of thirst."

The twins did not blink as they listened.

"Then I heard this man boasting in a tavern that he knew where Lord Legolas was – and that he would kill him. So I came after him, and caught up with him here. And I attacked him."

"No, this man lies; I was the one who heard this scoundrel here boast that he was going to take Lord Legolas hostage and use him to get ransom money from Mirkwood."

"My lords, in all honesty-"

"Please, my lords, believe me and punish this vile snake-"

"This man is dangerous-"

"If we let this man loose, we will-"

One of the twins held up his hands. The heated accusations ceased; silence reigned over the hushed hall once again. The elves who lined the walls were watching with intense interest.

The fair youth leaned forward. "What would you ask of us?" His voice was ever calm, the innocent expression open and relaxed.

"Let us see Lord Legolas." The request was made in unison.

The twins looked at each other. They began to converse swiftly in their own tongue. The men watched with a seed of confidence growing in them. The elves before them were young. They would be much easier to sway than the lord of the valley, or that advisor.

Finally, the two looked back toward the humans. One of them spoke, his expression unchanging.

"We shall alert Lord Legolas of this danger when he returns. We thank you both for alerting us, and we condemn you both for plotting against him."

The men's mouths fell open.

"Therefore," said the other twin, "we will not harm either of you, nor hold you prisoner. But you will not set foot in our valley again. Safe journeys. You are dismissed."

The two rose in one smooth movement, and in a swirl of rich sea blue, they were gone, leaving the thunderstruck men to the mercy of the expressionless golden-haired elf who motioned for his warriors to haul them out.

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Thranduil was alone in the path, seated atop his horse with naught but a cloak draped over his thin tunic, when Elrond approached. He was surprisingly calm as he touched his heart. "Well met, Elrond."

Elrond returned the gesture of greeting, and quickly they began to ride toward the castle. The woods were darker than Elrond remembered.

"You were expecting me," said the dark-haired elvenlord, without so much as a sideward glance. Thranduil nodded.

"Dark tidings come from the whispers of the forest. I thought you would send word, though I did not expect you to come yourself."

Elrond urged his horse to move faster. "I wanted to speak to you about your son."

Thranduil did not answer. With a mute nod, he spurred his horse on.

They reached the castle swiftly, navigating shortcuts through which Thranduil guided Elrond. Leaping off of their mounts, the two lords strode inside, Elrond declining the refreshments that Thranduil offered.

"I sensed that he was troubled. Is it something concerning you, Thranduil, or safety of Mirkwood?"

The king guided his guest into his study, and closed the door. "Me." He motioned for Elrond to sit at the table.

While the king approached the cupboard and took out a bottle of wine, Elrond waited patiently in silence. Thranduil turned midway in his collecting of goblets, and looked at Elrond.

"We had a disagreement."

Elrond nodded, silently prompting him to continue.

Thranduil sighed, and came back to the table. Resting the goblets on the polished surface, he began to pour the wine.

"We have many disagreements nowadays."

Elrond nodded again, sympathy adorning his face. "Adolescence," he murmured. Thranduil laughed quietly, running a weary hand over his face as he lowered himself onto a chair facing his companion.

"Aye, adolescence. I never dreamed it would be this difficult."

The lord of Imladris watched carefully as Thranduil lapsed into silence. The king's eyes were troubled. His hand held the goblet of wine but did not bring it to his lips, instead holding it thoughtfully in a steady, swirling motion.

A hand to his knee brought the king back to himself. He blinked, and found the dark-haired elf smiling at him understandingly.

"It will pass. It always does."

Lowering his lashes, Thranduil rested the goblet back on the table with a wistful smile. "Is your daughter as troublesome as my son?"

Elrond laughed. "Let us just say she tends to make good use of her Lorien trips these days."

Thranduil smirked.

The trees did not sing. Elrond realized that the gardens overlooked by the large glass wall seemed darker than usual. He wondered briefly if the king's grief was passing onto the magic-laden land. He sighed, turning back to his friend to lay a hand on top of his.

"Be comforted in knowing that human adolescence is far more turbulent than this." He offered a wry smile. Thranduil shuddered.

"I do not dare imagine."

Elrond chuckled.

With a smile, the elvenking let out a great breath, and slumped in sudden fatigue. His hand was dry and tired.

"There was an incident," he began quietly, finally taking a sip out of his goblet. Thoughtful eyes lingered on the red liquid as he spoke. "A skirmish with orcs. He hesitated before finishing them off, which resulted in many more injuries for his fellow hunters." He took another languorous sip out of his goblet. "He and I had a talk and he left for a walk, and later that evening, he came to me claiming to have met an old man." He paused. "The old man told him about the origin of orcs."

A rigid silence descended upon the room.

Thranduil's eyes were riveted stubbornly on the table as he slowly continued. "After that, he injured an orc during a hunt, but refused to kill it. We had a rather...distressful argument over that one."

"His actions brought further injuries to your guards." Elrond's statement was flat, empty. Thranduil nodded, closing his eyes and leaning back onto his chair.

"He no longer understands why we must continue to fight orcs. He wants to understand them." He smiled ruefully.

Elrond sighed.

Thranduil briskly stood from his seat, and strode over to the window. The sun was setting.

"So we argued, he left to keep his promise to Haldir, and I gather that he went to Imladris to travel with Arwen. That is all. But I presume that you are not here to inquire about our filial disharmonies?" he turned and cocked an eyebrow at Elrond.

Elrond slowly turned in his seat, leaning sideways against the back of the chair and staring back at the king. "Darkness is coming, Thranduil."

Thranduil did not respond. His glittering eyes watched on, silent. Elrond rose and approached him.

"Your relationship is strained, yes, but left like this, you will not be able to stand against the darkness that threatens you both."

The king's eyes were steady as he watched the elvenlord come nearer. He tapped his foot impatiently. "All of it, Elrond."

Elrond smiled faintly. The smile was replaced with a sigh as he sought to remember his vision.

"I saw bloodbath." Elrond joined the king by the window. "But it was more than a massive killing. There was much hatred in it...misunderstanding, sadness, anger, guilt. Orcs and humans."

It took a moment for the king to finally nod. "I thank you for your pains." With a great exhalation, he cocked his head, and a rogue smile appeared on his face. "Let us enjoy Mirkwood festivities, then. I cannot let you go without getting you drunk on our prized wine."

Elrond sighed in mock resignation as the king dragged him out of the room, into the feast hall.

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Arwen clutched the wooden frame of her bed tightly. The knocks were becoming louder and louder. They were shouting now – pounding on the door, they were spilling forth curses and threats of which she could understand less than half. If she had known that humans could be so bad-mannered, and so horribly vulgar, she would not have stayed in this inn. But then again, Legolas was fiercely protective of her – he would not have agreed to spend the night outdoors with her present condition.

But now, departure seemed inevitable. And the sooner the better, it seemed. She glanced out the window.

A thin tree was wavering gently outside the window, occasionally brushing against the dirty glass. The boy – Galo, was it? – had slid down the tree to escape, and Legolas would be able to easily jump up here. But Arwen knew that her injuries would not allow her to perform such a stunt. She could hardly walk with her back erect. She brought her hand to her side. Legolas had changed the bandages this morning, before leaving. She was still asleep when he did it. She smiled wistfully. _I believe I could use your help just about now, dear friend_.

"Open this door! I know you are in there! Open it!" The voices were boorish. The door strained against the barricade. "Open the door, you Mirkwood elf!"

Arwen crossed her arms, eying the stack of furniture that rested against the trembling door. Though it took a great amount of painful panting and straining to get those in place, it looked as if the table and chairs would not last much longer. She slowly ran her fingers over the blade of her long sword. Legolas had placed the sword by her hands before leaving.

She did not like to draw blood. And Legolas usually spared her the trouble, for he preferred her to stay away from orc encounters unless he called for help. He did not like to have her see his mechanical, calculating, cold-blooded battles. So different from her brothers' maddened frenzy of slaughter. She inhaled slowly. Legolas was kind. He was a healer. But he killed oh so efficiently. So brutally.

But this was another matter. These were men. Not orcs.

There _was_ a difference...wasn't there?

Taking in a deep breath, she gave the sword an experimental swing. Silver light flashed in the morning sun, dancing across the room. She cringed as her side burned with renewed pain.

Would Legolas kill men without a blink of an eye as well?

In all honesty, she did not know. And she did not wish to find out.

The door creaked. A crack burst through, and the wood began to wobble under the pounding of the men's fists. Arwen slowly walked to stand in the center of the room, sword raised. She would not go down without a fight.

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**_To Be Continued_**

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**Templa**** Otmena**: Oh, I hope the wait was not hard on you! Sorry it took so long and I am, as always, honored and glad that you waited for me ;) How did your interview go? And your ever-continuing job and education frenzy? ;) As for my wedding job, I have the bride being very picky about being all classical in her music selections, and the bride's friend who is inserting her opinions everywhere and making life even more difficult...and of course, the church that says 'no secular music, only classical' – obviously the church people don't know much about music....hmph...anyway, I play the violin, the viola, and the piano. Anyway, I am so glad to hear that you did not fall down the stairs! Thank the stars you are getting better. Are you all healed yet? Get better soon!

**Coolio02**: Hi there! Glad to see you again! I now wonder how you are reacting to those men ;) Thank you for the review!

**merrymagic26**: Oh, I am glad to hear that it's getting better! I will try hard not to disappoint! Thank you!

**Brazgirl**: Yes, I thought you would be frustrated somewhat with the Thranduil part....hehehe. There was a healthy dose of Thranduil in this chapter, eh? Glad to hear from you again!

**elvingirl3737**: I'm glad you approve! Thank you for telling me so!

**Unsung Heroine**: Yes, aren't long chapters just lovely? ;) It is a relief to hear that I am doing decently in my Arwen development. Thank you!


	7. Impending Tide

**Disclaimer**: I do not own LOTR.

**Rating**: PG – 13

**Author's Note**: My thanks to **Estel**** la Rodeuse** for reviewing _Tears of Yesterday_. Unfortunately, I had finished writing that story when I realized that I got the ages wrong – I had envisioned the entire thing with young boys, and couldn't bring myself to imagine otherwise. To change it to fit into canon would, I decided, ruin the entire drama of the story, so I left it that way. I hope you enjoy the rest of it. ;)

My thanks also to **Liregon** for reviewing _Beasts of Burden_. I am glad you liked it; thank you for your generous praises!

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**_by_****_ Kasmi Kassim_**

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**_Chapter 6: Impending Tide_**

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The men turned at the loud sound of horse hooves outside the inn. Someone cried out that the elf was actually outside of the inn, on horseback. Returning to the town to his pursuers. The locked door forgotten, the confused men rushed down to see the elf.

Arwen looked around in alarm as the footsteps pounded down the wooden stairs. And then, a little boy scuttled up the tree beside the window and hopped into the room.

"Galo!" Arwen exclaimed, lowering her sword. "What happened to my brother?"

The boy busily scurried about the room, packing up the two elves' belongings. "He dropped me off outside the village," he explained, eyes on the bundle of herbs that he was packing. "He says to get ready, so that you can escape when he makes the chance."

"What chance?" exclaimed Arwen. Males!

Galo looked up. "He says he is going to break down the stairs."

Arwen did not know whether she should laugh or fly into a fit. So she stood pensively still.

While the boy was gathering up the traveling gear, the men were slowly nearing the elf who was poised on top of his horse, in the middle of the village square. The animal under the lithe body shifted restlessly. The clear eyes of the elf remained on the men as he murmured soft words to his mount, steady hands running over the neck of the animal.

"So you come, Master Elf."

A dark-haired man stepped forward. He was a middle-aged man, with glittering eyes and a grizzly beard. Legolas recognized him instantly. That one was the leader who had battled him last time.

"How gallant of you to come to confront us."

Legolas did not respond. He eyed the approaching man warily.

"Do you not remember me, elf?" The voice was sinister. Dark. "I believe I left some marks on you to remember me by."

Legolas' expression was smooth, cold. "What do you seek of me?"

A hoarse laughter broke out of the man's throat. He approached, eyes glowing with a strange fire. Legolas tightened his grip upon the horse's mane, feeling an involuntary shiver run up his spine. He was sure that he had seen that look before.

The tension in the air was suddenly broken when green and gold abruptly flashed forward. The white horse sprang toward the side of the inn.

"Cursed elf!"

The men shouted and swore, giving chase. The elf swiftly stormed toward the back of the inn, and leaped onto the tall, willowy tree that reached the window of a second-floor room. The men stared, open-mouthed, as the elf nimbly climbed up. The tree swayed and bended, but did not give way.

With a clamor, the men stormed back into the inn, dashed past the flabbergasted innkeeper, and trampled up the stairs. Then they heard hoof beats again. Someone cried that the elf was outside. The men rushed back downstairs, the wood creaking dangerously under their booted feet.

The elf was on horseback once again, one arm encircled around the waist of a small figure seated before him. The figure was heavily cloaked, and unrecognizable. The men crowded outside, giving chase.

Without looking back, the elf spurred his horse to run to the stables, and reappeared without the bundle. The horse galloped toward the tree once again. With another clamorous curse, the men rushed back into the inn once more, and stampeded up the stairs. The innkeeper's despairing cry did not enter their ears.

When they reached the door, they heard a loud neigh below them. They again rushed back downstairs, and saw that a chestnut steed was running out of the stables, freed from its stall. The horse ran toward the tree, at the back side of the inn. Cursing, the men stampeded back up the stairs.

With a thunderous groan, the wooden stairway crashed beneath their feet.

Dust and wood flew up into the air as the men tumbled down on top of each other, screaming and cursing – and they landed in a heap, tangled between splinters of wood and beaten bodies. And then the door to the room upstairs opened, and a cloaked figure leaped down. The figure was incredibly light, hopping gracefully on the heads and bodies of the immobile men, and making his or her way to the exit.

When some men – those who were able to, that is – turned their heads to look out the door, past the gaping mouths and bulging eyes of the townspeople, they could see the gold and green streak pick up the dark figure onto the chestnut steed, which had miraculously appeared beside the white horse. And the two figures stormed away from the town, away from the groans, curses and wails of the men left behind.

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"Remind me to never cause your ire," commented Glorfindel, bringing a pair of wine glasses toward his friend.

Erestor, who was leaning heavily on the table, looked up at Glorfindel in the corner of his eye and let out a quiet laugh. He did not speak as his eyes followed the glasses in Glorfindel's hands. The evening was cool and tranquil, and he was more tired than usual.

Setting the glasses down, Glorfindel seated himself. He smiled as his friend picked up a glass. "Ah well, they had it coming. They should have known better than to insult Erestor of Imladris. I must say, Elladan and Elrohir did quite well."

Erestor smirked. "I know not of which you speak." He sipped from his glass, and frowned. "Why is the wine so strong, Glorfindel?"

Surprised, the golden-haired elf quickly took the glass from his friend's hand and took a sip. His brows furrowed as his tested it in his mouth, and then he looked up at his friend, perplexed. "It is the same that we always drink."

The raven-haired elf leaned again onto the table, resting his chin on the smooth wood. His black hair fanned out and around his head, curling and draping over and under the table. "Hm."

Eyes shimmering with sympathy, Glorfindel reached out and patted Erestor's head. "You are tired."

Erestor plopped his face onto one side, feeling the cool wood beneath his skin, and stared drowsily at Glorfindel. "Did Elrond say Legolas is coming soon?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "He says he did what he could to warn Thranduil. There is no more that he can see."

Erestor nodded, and his eyes began to lose focus. His breathing became even and quiet. Glorfindel stared down in slight surprise, and waved his hand in front of Erestor's face. When he received no response, he rose without a sound, and reached around the lithe elf's body. He lifted the limp body effortlessly.

"Erestor," he sighed, his face taking on a thoughtful expression. The chief councilor was perpetually weary these days, nerves frazzled ever since he saw Legolas ride into Imladris weeks ago. A darkness was whispering in his sensitive ear, a shadow of a certain foreboding that only he could recognize from experience.

Glorfindel carried the slumbering elf to the side door leading to the councilor's bed chamber, and gently placed his friend down onto the bed. He sat down on the mattress, covering the still figure with a blanket. With another thoughtful look, he placed a hand upon the weary councilor's forehead, and whispered a quiet prayer. A warm golden light shimmered from his hand and seeped into the dark-haired elf. And then Erestor was sleeping soundly, the lines of worry softened on his face. With a heavier heart, Glorfindel slowly rose, mulling over the distant fear that he had glimpsed in the councilor's mind. With a lingering look at his friend, he blew out the candles, and silently slid out of the room.

'

'

'

The ride was long. They rested little, and rode ceaselessly. Arwen did not voice discomfort, though Legolas' eyes upon her were ever watchful. Their meals were taken in hiding, hushed and hurried, and Legolas was always alert while he urged her to eat more. At nights, he carried her up into a tree and, making her comfortable against his body and the branches, tended to her wounds. And they would fall asleep, curled against the branches in a tangled mess, her leaning onto his chest with protective arms holding her, and his head drooping over the side of her neck.

They were both bleary-eyed by the time they reached the pastures that lay between the mountains and the woods.

"We are near," breathed Arwen on a sunny morning, as the forest loomed in the distance. Legolas nodded without a word. With a weary sigh, the two adolescents spurred their mounts forward, eager to throw themselves into the embracing bosom of Lorien.

They had not gone far into the tranquil forest when they were stopped.

"Halt."

Obediently, they stopped their horses, and waited for the invisible guards to show themselves. And one by one, strands of pale hair began to emerge from among the foliage. Legolas dismounted, and touched his heart.

"Greetings, guardians of the Golden Woods."

The two were soon surrounded by pale-haired elves clad in gray, who lowered their bows and greeted them in silence. Legolas looked up toward a particularly tall elf, who was eying them evenly as he approached. The prince broke into a deep smile.

"Well met, Haldir of Lorien."

The said elf touched his heart, his expression ever calm. "Well met Legolas, son of Thranduil." He turned toward the elleth still seated on the horse, and touched his heart again. "Greetings, Arwen. Your return is sooner than expected."

Arwen smiled sheepishly.

As the guardians dispersed toward their respective posts once again, Haldir motioned for the two travelers to follow. Turning, he began to lead the party toward the city. Legolas, reins in his hand, fell in pace with the warden. He leaned over to the taller elf's shoulder and voiced a whisper.

"Are you angry?"

Impassive cobalt blue eyes turned to look at him. Legolas made a sad face.

"Don't be angry with me, Haldir. I missed you."

The expressionless mask fell away, and a strong arm snaked around the prince's neck. "Do not use that face on me, Thranduilion, or I shall skin you yet."

Relieved, Legolas stifled a laugh. "At least I did not forget you. A prince has his duties, you know. He is ever busy with protecting his people, pleasing his father, and-" he squealed as the arm around his neck suddenly gained strength. Giggling, he curled his neck against his shoulders, steps faltering and running into Haldir's. "I yield, Haldir! I yield!"

Finally loosening his headlock, Haldir tousled the younger elf's hair. "You are beyond late, princeling," he growled. Legolas let out a melodious laugh and put an arm around his companion's shoulder. And they walked side by side, shoulder to shoulder, chatting and laughing.

Seated atop her chestnut steed, Arwen rolled her eyes. Males.

'

'

'

"Is it true, then?"

Legolas' eyes were troubled. Galadriel walked across the pavilion, her white dress tapping soundlessly against her bare feet. The young one's mind was no doubt in turmoil. She needed time to think. What could she say to answer in honesty, and still protect him from the anguish that his tender heart would undoubtedly suffer? She needed to think. But the youth standing before her did not give her time. He demanded answers.

With uncertainty, she turned, and faced the young prince. Meeting his blazing eyes, her gaze hardened with resolve. She no longer knew what to give him, except for the truth.

"Yes, Legolas. It is true that orcs were created from tormented elves. They are beyond healing."

The elf before her stiffened. His pale face became paler. His eyelids slowly fluttered shut. With a tremendous darkness, she could feel the weary moan in his heart.

And suddenly, she was tired. She was no longer in control in the course of Fate. She felt helpless for the first time in a very long time.

"Haldir and his brothers have waited long for you." It was a feeble attempt, a last desperate one. She watched his eyes open, steeling as swift thoughts condensed and sharpened. _How like his father_, Galadriel thought fleetingly, as blue eyes glittered with resolve. She was once again seeing a young Prince Thranduil, the determined young elf who refused to fall with despair no matter what the Valar had taken away from him.

And just as Thranduil had been indomitable, so was his son. The youth was beyond her reach and she knew it. She sighed again as Legolas bowed, hand to his heart.

"I thank you, my lady," he said slowly, and turned away. "I shall return."

"Legolas."

Galadriel fought the urge to run to him, to hold him back. Physical restraint would not stop him. But how she wished it would.

The ominous whispers were overwhelming his light, swirling around the young body with blunt darkness – promising demise and despair to the youth who illuminated the dark forests of Mirkwood. He was walking into doom. But he would willingly, knowingly walk into doom, head held up high, just like his father – if only to see what it would hold for him. If only to see if he would be able to fight it.

Such strength of will and defiance to Fate was Oropher's downfall; for a time, Galadriel had feared that it would be Thranduil's as well.

To her relief, the disheveled young prince with tear-filled eyes that glittered with defiance had grown to be a king, now with no less heat in his blood but with more winds of age in his heart that tempered such a heat – and she did not wish for him to suffer yet another loss. He never appeared to be the unfortunate elf that he was, what with his loud commands and boyish smile and confident laughs and fierce battles and merrymaking – and yet in the unrelenting strength of the king was the tattered heart of the elf who had gritted his teeth as all that he held dear were taken away from him one by one. And what treacherous sins had he committed to deserve such a cruel fate?

"Legolas, stay."

_If only for your father._

Her gaze was intense. The youth's body stiffened once more, halting in its tracks. Not turning around, he bowed his head.

"Forgive me." His whisper was soft. "I have brought danger upon Arwen. I cannot stay."

The white lady swallowed. Legolas did not move. Silently asking for her to let him go. With a deep breath, she lifted her hand. There was no turning back.

Her eyes were deep, unfathomable, as she held her hand out toward the youth's lonely back, toward the setting sun.

"May the Valar protect you," she whispered.

'

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**_To Be Continued_**

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**Brazgirl**: Haha, yes, Thranduil. I thought you might have some fun reading him. But anyway, the cliffie is resolved for now, but from the next chapter begins the real thing...;)

**elvingirl3737**: I'm glad you liked my interpretation of them! ;) Thank you!

**Templa**** Otmena**: Bah, you and your flatteries once again. I have no idea what you're talking about when you go off on those eloquent praises. ;) But they are greatly appreciated by my inflated ego! ;) I hope you have had a very merry Christmas and have a wonderful New Year! ;)

**Beling**: I love your interpretation of the three youngsters! So insightful! And you are really catching the adolescence thing clearly – probably because you have been there and done that, eh? ;) I have used adolescence as the backdrop of this story for a reason, and it will play an important part in the story – as I see that you have already sensed! Thank you for offering to listen to my young turmoil – I will remember! Thank you so much! I hope this wait wasn't too long! ;)

**Unsung Heroine**: Yay, I'm glad that you are able to review! Thank you! Are you enjoying your holidays at home? ;)


	8. The Trap of Truth

**Disclaimer**: I do not own LOTR.

**Rating**: PG – 13

**Author's Note**: Happy New Year!

Many thanks to **Sesshyangel**, for reviewing _In the Dark of the Night_ and _A Winter Evening in Imladris_! I was stunned at your interpretation of Erestor's unspoken anguish in the former story – no one had ever brought such an interpretation to me before! Brilliant! And yes, the scene is open to interpretation – but it will eventually be fleshed out in a longer story featuring Erestor and Glorfindel later. As for the pipe weed episode...that will be left to your imagination. I wouldn't want to spoil anyone's brilliant vision of it. ;) And as for your request of elfling stories...I already have a prequel to this current story planned out, which will feature an elfling Legolas once again. It's wonderful to hear that you can tell how much I adore the child. ;) My elfling episodes were light-hearted breaks to ease the gravity of my psyche while writing the heavier-toned ones, and right now I'm toiling away in the dark-themed project of the longer installments of the Greenleaf Chronicles. They're not the happiest stories in the world, but I am attempting to examine many complex themes in them, so I hope you enjoy!

Thank you also to **SILD** for reviewing _Beasts of Burden_! I am flattered!

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**_by_****_ Kasmi Kassim_**

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**_Chapter 7: The Trap of Truth_**

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Legolas rubbed his eyes wearily. He had not rested at all in the past week. Though he could easily go on without sleep for a few days, the constant tension added to the number of sleepless nights was beginning to take its toll. Perhaps a bit of rest would do him good. He rubbed his eyes again, and patted the neck of his white stallion.

"Stop."

The horse instantly halted, letting out a soft neigh. Legolas rubbed his eyes once more, and sighed. He needed to sleep. But his mind could find no rest; danger was near. He could not let his guard down.

Looking around, he surveyed the surrounding lands. The sunset was burning into the western horizon. No danger visible yet.

But something was wrong. It was becoming more and more wrong by the passing moment. A soft wind blew across the plains, whispering warning to his wary ears. Keen eyes flickering side to side, Legolas drew his bow. His hands were paler than they usually were. He needed more rest.

He smiled ruefully. Perhaps he should have listened to Arwen's indignant demands. He had left as soon as he had greeted the Lord and Lady of the Golden Woods. He had exited the forest as soon as he had made sure that Arwen was in good hands. After having escaped her reach, exiting the forest unseen was easy. Only one person had stopped him on the way.

But that was to be expected. Haldir knew him well, after all.

Slowly, eyes riveted on the horizon, Legolas lowered his body. He brought his lips close to the horse's ear.

"Run."

A white whirlwind swept the grounds as the horse broke into a thunderous gallop.

He had not apologized. He had wished to, but apologies were meaningless in the face of the guardian. He had only looked up into his eyes, solemnly, searching for a light of understanding. It was childish, he knew. Irresponsible. But Haldir had laid a hand on his shoulder without a word, and looked back into his eyes. And no verbal exchange was necessary.

_Soon_, he had said. _I will return soon_. And Haldir had only nodded. And saw him off to the edge of the forest.

Legolas always kept his promises.

The wind stung his face. He clenched his teeth. He was being followed. His eyes were tired.

_Have you ever killed an elf, Father?_

The world blurred past him. The sun was setting. Darkness would come soon.

_Did you know that we have been killing tortured, mutilated, wretched elves?_

He shut his eyes.

He should not have spoken so. He could still remember the expression on his father's face when he blurted those words. He opened his eyes again.

The study had been silent, when he let those words lash the air. His father had not been harsh to him. He had patiently asked him why he had refused to kill the orcs. Why he had stood still, helpless, while the guards around him were falling. Why he refused to finish the lives of the injured orcs, once and for all. And Legolas had only responded with those sharp questions. No, not questions. He shook his head, brushing the wind-swept hair out of his face. Accusations. They were accusations. And his father had fallen silent.

The grim triumph with which he had stormed out of the study seemed so young and foolish, now.

The sound of hooves pounded into his ears. He drew in a deep breath, and let it out. The air was becoming cooler.

Of course his father had known. He had fought alongside King Oropher and had survived in the Battle of the Last Alliance. He had to know. And he had still done what he had. Which was perfectly reasonable. Did the orcs not kill his mother? Did they not kill his elven kin, tried to besiege the castle? He took another deep breath.

But it was not fair.

He gritted his teeth.

Why?

It was so easy, to know the enemy as nothing more than a nameless, faceless monster; he could fight without thinking, slaughter without feeling. But not anymore.

The enemy had a name. The enemy had a face. The enemy had a life, a beautiful and blessed life, before all of this ever started. And the enemy was suffering.

It was not fair.

He wildly turned his horse around, gaze burning through the sunset.

"What do you seek of me?"

The dark-clad men halted abruptly, attempting to calm their bewildered horses. They quickly spread out into a circle, surrounding him. Legolas did not move. His eyes were ablaze with the copper blood of the sun.

"What do you seek of me?"

The men drew closer. One of them stepped forth. That man. The leader who had tormented him while he had been unconscious...

"Greetings, Master Elf. We come in good will."

Legolas narrowed his eyes. The men amounted to twenty at least. All of them wielded weapons. He waited patiently. The clouds were streaking into a lavender hue.

"What you did in that town was very impressive." The man grinned. His teeth glistened in the golden light. "But this time, you will not trick us so easily."

Legolas calmly looked up, gauging the sky. Daylight would fade soon.

"I have no need to trick you," he replied, impassive gaze falling back onto the men. "What is your will?"

The man wasted no time. "We need to go to Mirkwood."

Legolas' sharp gaze was unwavering. "Identify yourself."

The man seemed almost amused. He tilted his head. "Rolof," he replied slowly. "And I know that you are a Mirkwood elf."

The young elf did not answer. He stared at the man in silence.

Rolof eyed the elf, and then cocked his head again. His hand came up to his ear. And at that motion, the men rushed forward.

Legolas' horse whirled around and broke free from the impending net of riders. The men started to give chase after the initial chaos, but halted breathlessly as they found an arrow tip pointing at their midst. The elf stood a distance away, his arrow ready to fly.

"We elves do not kill men." His eyes darted from one man to another. The young elf did not seem afraid at all. "But I will break that rule if necessary."

Suddenly, Rolof broke into a harsh laughter. The jagged voice rang into the quiet twilight. Sharp blue eyes of the elf shot toward him.

"Elves do not kill men, eh?" The man was holding his abdomen, wiping his eyes. His shoulders still shook with laughter. "To hear that from you, of all elves! You really are a jewel, Master Elf."

The adolescent elf narrowed his eyes. "What mean you by that?"

"We mean," snarled Rolof, the laughter suddenly gone, "you owe us. And you shall pay for what your king has done to us."

Azure blue eyes widened in disbelief.

Instantly, the young elf was surrounded, and men hurled themselves at the frozen figure. Legolas automatically turned away, trying to escape, but it was too late. He was blocked.

Whispering a silent apology, he leaped onto his feet, and jumped off of the steed. He broke into a run.

He could stay and fight, he knew. But he was not in the state to be battling. He needed time to think.

A sudden pain blazed through his arm. Without looking, he absentmindedly reached for his arm, and pulled out the dart that had embedded itself there. His legs faltered. He gritted his teeth. Sedative.

The world began to swim. He could hear voices upon his back. They were close. He still continued to run, however, determined to fight to the last. Who would have thought that it would end this way? He could have laughed. He did not even have time to apologize to his father. His last memory shared with his father would be that of a quarrel. That was not how he wanted to be remembered.

A rope came hurling through the air. He dodged it, steps faltering and skidding, and more ropes came flying in loops. They entangled themselves around the prince, and Legolas' body was forcefully jerked down. He rolled in the ground and jumped back to his feet, only to find more ropes jerking at his body. Soon his body gave way and fell again. Legolas' vision hazed. The sedative was taking effect. He gritted his teeth. They wanted him alive.

_Forgive me_, he whispered, as he felt himself losing the battle to stay conscious. His father would be worried. And he still did not keep that promise to Haldir yet.

'

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**_To Be Continued_**

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**elvingirl3737**: Haha, did I aid in your survival now? I feel special...;) Thank you for the review!

**Brazgirl**: Thank you! Happy New Year to you too! You picture Thranduil as a womanizer? You know dear, I have an image of him being popular with ladies too...;) And I agree with you, it really is sad how men in the western culture are so careful with their displays of affection...

**Unsung Heroine**: Haha, are you still home for the holidays? I'm sorry I haven't updated more often during the duration of your holidays...it's a delight to hear that my story manages be enjoyable among the swamping number of fanfics written by younger writers these days! Thank you! ;)

**Rede**: Ah, there you were! I was wondering if you had disappeared from my list of readers. It's good to know that you're still sticking around for my humble little tales! Thank you!

**Galadryal**: Wow, I am so surprised and happy to see you again! I remember seeing you in my first multi-chapter story, _The Strength of One Green Leaf_, and have fond memories from the experience...thank you for stopping by again!

**Beling**: You make me so happy with your enthusiasm for my humble little writing. Always such encouragement! ;) I would like to tell you what is going on, but it will slowly be revealed along the way...;) Haldir and Legolas will have a story all for themselves, dedicated to the difficult path to their friendship. I am glad you want to hear about it, because Haldir-Legolas friendships is as intriguing to me as the legendary Erestor-Glorfindel friendship. Hehe. I am also glad to hear that you liked Galadriel's thought sequences! Thranduil's younger life will also be further explored – oh, how I love that elf! I love your phrase, "tragically haunted and heroically challenged" – it gives such a sublime aura of greatness to my Legolas that I am sure my humble work does not deserve! Thank you!


	9. Wits Contested

**Disclaimer**: I do not own LOTR.

**Rating**: PG – 13

**Author's Note**: Just on an idle chatter, pure love of LOTR fandom seems to be thinning these days...is everyone leaving for something else now? (cries) Well anyway, I shall not be swept away with the tide! (Har har)

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**_by_****_ Kasmi Kassim_**

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**_From Twilight to Dawn_**

**_Chapter 8: Wits Contested_**

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Never before had Legolas seen so many sedatives used in succession. He promised himself to check his use of herbs when he returned to the healing ward. These things were beyond unpleasant. Especially when taken with barely any food.

He sighed, drifting in and out of consciousness. He could faintly feel the rhythmic gait of the horse underneath him, and the rough breathing of the man who sat behind him. He had considered jumping off and running away, despite his groggy state, but gave up on that idea as soon as he tugged his feet to find them bound to the saddle. He was being delivered like a captured animal, helpless and immobile.

How many days had it been? He could not tell for sure. He remembered seeing two sunsets. And many evenings, and campfires. They had traveled long. And day after day, he was put to sleep and lugged onto the horse. The men had decided that drugging their prisoner was better than putting up with sore legs and broken bones among themselves every mealtime. The slender elf was deceptively strong.

"Set camp," called out a voice. Ah, the voice of the man who held him. Rolof.

The men dismounted in a woody area, and quickly went about the business of setting up bedrolls and building a fire. Legolas felt his body leaning onto one side. And then, he was hanging limply in the arms of that man. His body felt heavy and tired, despite his mind's confused activity.

Rolof carried Legolas to the side of the camp, and laid him down carefully onto a soft bed of moss hidden behind a fallen log. Legolas heard footsteps approach. He knew the sound well. One of the men had come from the fire to give Rolof his dinner. Rolof sat down by Legolas, and began to eat. Legolas remained motionless, eyes closed.

It was always Rolof who rode with him during the day. And it was always Rolof, no one else, who watched him while the others ate. He sat apart from the campfire, alone by the prone elf, eating in the dark. Legolas knew this, for the effect of the sedative always wore off by the evening. But he kept his eyes closed – he knew well that humans always mistook this for sleep – and remained unmoving. He would not be rash. He had to know what these men were after.

"Wake up, Master Elf."

The whisper was rugged, hot against his neck. A sharp edge of cold steel pressed against his chest.

The sedative was wearing off, but his muscles were slow in regaining normal function. Groggily, he blinked his eyes, and stared up at the man who hovered over him. Roloth sat by him, dark as a shadow, with a strange gleam in his eyes. He was looking over Legolas with a scrutiny so intense that the elf shuddered and turned away.

"So you are Legolas."

The whisper was soft, barely audible through the banter of the men by the campfire some steps away. Legolas swallowed, and faced the man again.

"How do you know my name?" The voice was weak. Legolas felt dizzy.

Rolof smiled. "I know many things about you, besides your name."

Startled, Legolas blinked, and the man let out a soft laughter. It was like a growl, rolling off of his lips. He tossed the bone of the meat in his hand and sat closer.

"Tell me, Legolas. How old are you?"

Legolas realized that his tunic was unclasped, the fabric opened and parted down to his abdomen. The man's knife was drawing lazy circles over his skin.

When met with silence, the man raised his eyes from the smooth skin of the elf's torso. He smiled.

"Revenge is such a strange thing, is it not?" he whispered. The smile made Legolas shudder. "An undeserving child pays for his the sins of his king...an innocent, blooming child..."

Legolas strained against his bonds, but found that it was useless. His hands were tied tightly behind his back, and his legs were still numb. He gritted his teeth.

"What has the king of Mirkwood done to you?" he hissed. All filial animosity forgotten, his mind flared with anger at one who dared to accuse his father of wrongdoing. His father could be overprotective, and he was a meddling nuisance, and he found a way to always get in his way – but he never made wrong decisions, and he knew it. Legolas strained against his bonds again, mind hot with fury. He trusted his father, not because he was his parent but because he was worth trusting and respecting. No one would speak against him without good reason, or else they would face the wrath of the whole of Mirkwood.

Rolof opened his mouth to speak, but sudden sounds of hooves invaded the air. Legolas' eyes flitted upward. Rolof quickly sheathed his knife and redid the clasps to the young elf's tunic. With a grunt, he stood, moving away.

"At last!"

A distant voice called. Legolas strained his body to turn and see, but a log lay where Rolof was sitting, obstructing his view. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply to contain his frustration. Sensitive ears strained to pick up the distant noises as they came nearer. Men dismounting horses.

"So what happened? Did you find the elf?"

"By Mordor, can you believe it? After everything we told them, they threw us out!" Indignant voice.

"What? The elf-lord threw you out?" Rolof's voice. Disbelieving.

"No, it was his sons. The young vermins!"

"The deceitful little things-"

"-never expected them to give us a harsher sentence-"

"We still can't believe it! Nothing worked!"

Legolas quieted his breathing. The crickets sang under the harsh tone of the men, who were now near.

"Worry not," said Rolof's voice, with a hint of a smirk. "We do not need Legolas. We have with us a Mirkwood elf. He will guide us."

Legolas blinked.

Rolof hustled the men toward him, and he was soon dragged up into a sitting position. He stared at two dark-haired men, who were staring at him with curiosity. Rolof gently grasped his shoulder.

"Tell us, Master Elf," he said sweetly. "What is your name?"

Legolas stared.

Rolof's grip suddenly became vicious. Pain flared throughout Legolas' body.

"Tell us, Master Elf," said the man, in a low voice that spoke danger. "What is the source of your drinking water?"

Legolas closed his eyes. Thoughts and calculations swirled and clashed, swift and reflexive as in battle. His voice was calm. "The river."

"Which river?" Iron hands gripped his hair tight. Legolas gritted his teeth.

"There is a secret passage. A stream protected by elven magic, which keeps all evil poisons at bay."

"Ah." Rolof suddenly released his hold. Legolas was thrown back onto the ground. He looked up blankly, meeting the gazes of the curious men.

"May I go now?" The question was hollow.

Rolof chuckled. "You already know that you cannot, Master Elf. You will have to guide us to this stream. We will get lost without your guidance."

'

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Legolas was compliant to the men's wishes. He followed orders, and did not attempt to escape when guards were sparse. His encounters with sedatives lessened by day until the men finally decided that it would be a waste to use any more on the elf. Soon, only Rolof kept his watch over him, and all other men forgot about their captive. They were always busy talking about the various tactics they could employ to undo the kingdom of Mirkwood, and what they would do with the spoils. Whenever those conversations started, Legolas strained to listen; sitting on Rolof's horse, he could still make out most of the conversation, though Rolof could not. The man did not seem interested in the whole plot. His eyes were only on Legolas; his interests seemed to lie in the elf alone. The elf had a feeling that this man's motives ran in a different direction from the rest of the men.

And what of his knowledge of Legolas' name?

Something about the man made Legolas uneasy. He had known his name, and yet he had lied to his fellow men that he did not know. That meant that he knew something that the others did not, and wanted the keep the others in the dark. He had a different purpose for Legolas. Something about the gleam in his eyes told Legolas that this man was more dangerous than all of the others put together.

It did not take long for Legolas to decide that he could use some dissension among the men.

"Gama," he called one day, beckoning to one of the young men who had proclaimed to have been thrown out of Imladris. This man was a leader of the group, sharing his authority with the older and more knowledgeable Rolof. He walked toward Legolas, somewhat startled.

Legolas glanced around. The others were busy setting camp, and Rolof had wandered away to tend to his horse. His chance would be brief. He lowered his voice, prompting the man to lean in closer.

"You do need me to guide you through the maze of the forest, do you not?" His eyes glittered in the fading light.

Gama nodded, a suspicious frown marring his features. He was a handsome young man with dark hair and an athletic body. His youth and vigor provided a different kind of leadership from Rolof's quiet and growling words. He treated Legolas with indifference, and the rest of the men followed suit – except for Rolof. He and Rolof did not get along.

Blue eyes flicked toward Rolof's figure in the distance. Legolas lowered his voice even more. He could feel his wrists becoming raw from the biting ropes.

"I have a proposal."

The man's eyes narrowed. Legolas glanced around again. Gama nodded. "I'm listening."

"Rolof is planning to kill me before we get to the forest."

Gama's mouth fell open. He stared at Legolas, and then turned to stare at Rolof. He turned back to Legolas.

"Why should I believe you?" his eyes scoured the elf up and down.

"You may have noticed," said the elf impassively, "that he lets no one else guard me, and insists on riding with me at all times. I have felt his blade against my heart every night. He is waiting for a perfect chance."

Gama tilted his head, gauging the elf's words. The elf's eyes flickered.

"I am the only one who can help you survive the forest. I am an unwelcome sight to Mirkwood; I will guide you only up to the castle if you agree to set me free afterwards."

This grabbed the man's attention. He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Why do you fear being seen by your fellow elves?"

The elf stared back with impassive eyes, and glanced toward Rolof, who was returning. Gama quickly sat back, and patted Legolas' shoulder. "We shall talk later, Master Elf." He stood up and strolled toward Rolof to greet him, before joining the men by the fire.

Seeing the man walk away, Legolas bit back a smile. He had planted the seed. Now, all he had to do was to wait for it to grow.

"Did you miss me, Legolas?" Rolof's voice slithered around his ears as his shadow came nearer. Legolas shuddered involuntarily, and looked away. He had to get away from this man soon. His presence spoke of darkness beyond the horizons which he had ever known.

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"We cannot walk straight into this path!"

Rolof's voice was angry. The man stood in the center of a circle of men, who were watching with apprehensive interest. Before him stood Gama, the only man in the band who was unafraid of Rolof. He narrowed his eyes.

"We must venture into the forest if we are to kill them."

"All we need is the river!" Rolof pointed angrily toward the elf, who was seated on a horse, staring. No one was guarding him at the moment. "The elf will guide us to the waterway, and we can poison them all through their drinking water!"

Gama snorted. "And you think we can walk to their river without being seen? We will need to put up a good act if we are to face them!"

Rolof ground his teeth. "You can walk into the king's palace. I will stay and watch over the elf."

Dark brown eyes flashed toward Legolas. The elf remained wide-eyed, seemingly bewildered. Gama's eyes were pooling with conflicting emotions. He was gauging his choices. The suspicion over Rolof's obsession with the elf was beginning to grow.

"Why do you insist on such a thing?" His voice was suddenly soft, low. Rolof glanced at the elf uneasily. Gama's eyes were glistening with menace. "Is it because you want us to walk into danger, while you alone make off with our elf? Or kill him?"

Rolof flinched.

Gama's expression hardened. It was enough. He stepped back and raised his hand.

In an instant, the men leaped on Rolof from all sides. He was immediately subdued, and soon thrown onto the dirt with his hands and feet bound. One of the men pulled out a sword.

"Do not kill him," called out a light tenor voice. The men turned, and found the elf staring down at Rolof. The older man's eyes glittered with realization and sudden fury.

"You...elf! You tricked me!" He struggled against the bonds, but a boot came down mercilessly upon his ribs. He gagged and fell silent.

Gama, with his foot still on Rolof's chest, looked questioningly toward the elf. The youth simply shook his head. "The elves will smell the blood on you. They will suspect you."

The men murmured consent, and Gama kicked Rolof's body. "All right, then," he growled, "we will leave you for the wild beasts."

He turned toward Legolas, and began to walk toward him, a dagger drawn. The other men watched in anticipation. The elf stared emotionlessly, and did not flinch when Gama grabbed his arm and brandished his dagger.

"You will guide us faithfully," he growled.

The elf nodded. His bonds were instantly cut.

Rubbing his raw wrists, he looked down at Gama, who walked a few paces to the side and mounted his own horse. "Take us," he said, pulling the reins. "Take us to the elf-king."

The elf nodded again. He quietly patted the neck of the horse that belonged to Rolof until now. "Follow me."

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**_To Be Continued_**

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**brazgirl**: Yes, adolescence. Sigh. Is it not the bane of us all? ;) The secret about these men will be revealed very soon now! Hang in there! Thanks for the review!

**Jedi Cosmos**: Ah, so happy to hear that you are enjoying it! Thank you!

**Beling**: I am surprised and honored to hear that you liked the short chapter so. Yes, I agree with the male friendships – it is so interesting and risky to touch on male friendships in this world. ;) And your view of the imagery and their symbolic meanings...and your wise understanding of Legolas' turmoils as an adolescent. Beautiful! Thank you for sharing your wisdom of experience with this amateur writer! ;)

**Unsung Heroine**: Ooh, I want to watch the ROTK EE too! Lucky you. ;) And yes, like you, I have long been pondering about the conflicts arising from the origin of orcs...I portrayed Legolas as a certain type of killer in _Unfinished Earth_, which is a result of the events that will be told in this story and its following. Thank you for the review!

**Rede**: Haha, I am glad to hear that you're still here! And noticing all those metaphors....brilliant reader, you are. ;) Well anyway, Thranduil or Haldir to the rescue? Hmm, let us see...;)

**Templa**** Otmena**: Ooh, glad to hear from you again! I do plan to dedicate a full multi-chapter fic each to Erestor-Glorfindel and Legolas-Haldir friendships, so don't be frustrated too much if I only hint at it here – this is, after all, about the young prince's turmoil with filial tension, lies and deception, and revelations of painful truths. And of course, the discovery of the orcs' origins and his reaction to it will pave the way to the kind of warrior that he becomes by the timeline of _Unfinished Earth_... Hehe. Thank you for your wonderful reviews!


	10. Sins of the Father

**Disclaimer**: I do not own LOTR.

**Rating**: PG – 13

**Author's Note**: Many thanks to **Coolio02**, for giving me belated reviews of multiple chapters! ;) I do love it when I get reviews for past chapters too...hehe.

Many thanks also to **messenger of the Elvenking**, who reviewed _The Strength of One Green Leaf_! So good to hear that you liked it! I do love Thranduil, and I am still working on the _Hobbit_...sigh. And don't you worry, your English is fine...and I am not a native speaker either. ;)

Thank you also to **Azla**, who reviewed _Beasts of Burden_! I am happy that you liked it!

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_**by Kasmi Kassim**_

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_**From Twilight to Dawn**_

_**Chapter 9: Sins of the Father**_

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"So, how came you to be exiled from Mirkwood?" asked Gama, as their horses treaded the forest path. All eyes turned toward the elf.

The elf had been looking around, as if admiring the beauty of the forest for the first time. His eyes were lost and dreamy as he stared into the green shrubbery and brown bark of the trees. Even the twisted, gnarled trees seemed to look beautiful to him.

"I committed a crime," said the elf hesitantly. He looked up and bit his lip. "I tried to...seduce a married lady."

The men stared. They looked at each other, and then back toward the elf. Their expressions were shocked, disbelieving. Gama was no different.

"You were banished for something like that?" he asked, frowning. Then it was the elf's turn to be shocked.

"That is treachery! Dishonorable, and false..." he trailed off, and looked gloomily down onto his horse's back. Gama shook his head in disgust, muttering something about elves.

"If they see me, they will kill me, and suspect all of you. It is best that I stay out of view," said the elf in a soft voice. Gama nodded, and motioned toward one of his men. A slender youth with red hair took off his heavy cloak and handed it to Gama. Gama threw it toward the elf, who caught it with surprise.

"Take it," instructed the man. "Make sure to stay out of view."

Quickly donning the thick apparel, the elf peered out from underneath the hood, scanning the band of men. "So," he ventured, "what is your reason for wanting to kill the Mirkwood populace?"

He did not miss the changes of expression that took place among the men. Gama gripped his reins tight as he snarled. "Your king massacred our people."

The elf blinked.

"I do not understand," he ventured with uncertainty. His eyes darted from one man to another, gauging their reactions. They all looked glum, and quite angry.

"We were exiles as well," muttered Gama. "At least, our forefathers were. We came to join them decades later, because they promised to establish a village in this forest."

The elf nodded, a thoughtful expression clouding his face.

Gama jerked his horse's reins. "All we found was a village burned to the ground. Not a single living creature left. And all of us found pieces of items that used to belong to our parents, or in some cases, grandparents." He glanced darkly at the elf. "And Rolof told us that we had to catch a certain elf named Legolas, for he had something to do with it."

The elf blinked slowly, as if digesting the information. "How did Rolof know?"

Gama shrugged. "He is older than us, and had come to the site before we had. We never knew how he found out. Perhaps he was lying."

The young elf's hand slowly rose to his heart, as if stilling it. The thin hand, not yet matured, was veiled under the thick cloak.

"Then," he mused, "perhaps he had lied about the massacre. Perhaps he had also been lying about Legolas. There may be no such elf."

Gama frowned. "Perhaps," he muttered dubiously. Then he glanced toward the elf. "If you try anything, you will be the first to die," he muttered. The elf nodded.

"After I help your revenge," he said, "you must free me."

Gama looked long at him through narrowed eyes. Finally, he nodded. The elf let out a breath, and looked ahead. The forest path cleared, and he slowed. A fork in the road loomed before them.

The elf inhaled deeply. "This way." He turned to the left.

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The king was all but scowling.

His advisors kept silent, eying each other and the king in turn. Anxiety loomed heavily in the grand hall; there were still no reports from the scouts. And the elves could feel a darkness approaching. Perhaps this shadow was the source of the evil that was hindering their expected guests. They prayed that the guests were merely being hindered.

It had been a difficult task, to set up the whole affair. The advisors had nearly jumped back when the distracted – no doubt worrying about his son – king reacted to their careful suggestion. King Thranduil was not someone who so flatly refused his advisors' suggestions. But this case was different. It had taken long to convince him of the benefits of the new trade relationship.

And they could not blame the king. No, not at all. Not after what had happened only years ago.

So the subject had been dropped quickly, and the advisors had resigned themselves to giving up the idea. The king's suspicions were well-founded; they had been burned by trust before. No, they could not trust men.

But the benefits were too great. Trading with them could do wonders for their kingdom. If only the men proved themselves to be trustworthy.

That condition was what the king had settled for, when he brought up the subject to his disappointed advisors. Though reluctant, he had offered to give the men a chance. After all, the men were desperate, and the kingdom could use some trade. So the meeting had been set with meticulous attention to details, the advisors of the court seeing to every minute particle of the affair. Even so, the whole kingdom was uneasy, wary.

And the fact that the men were not showing up was not improving the situation.

The advisors' eyes were restless as they glanced at one another. The king was silent and motionless, eyes glittering dangerously, and the advisors had a feeling that the meeting would not go as perfectly as they had all hoped.

"My lord!"

All eyes turned to the elf who ran in, panting. "They are here," gasped the young messenger, bowing.

Thranduil sighed. It seemed that all eyes of the kingdom were focused on this ordeal. Well, he would make good his promise and try his best. He rose from his throne, scanning the eager faces of the elves.

"Guide them to their chambers," he instructed. "We will meet for dinner within the hour."

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"Are you insane?" hissed the young elf, pulling free of Gama's grasp. "I cannot go to a feast hall full of elves!"

The man crossed his arms and glared darkly. His men were watching from behind his broad back, curious.

"Like I said, draw up your cloak about you and-"

"I cannot do that in front of the king!" The young elf was practically baring his teeth. "They will suspect me!"

With a frustrated growl, Gama ran a hand through his dark hair. "Well, I can't leave you alone here – you must come with us!" He glowered with a smirk. "You are our guide."

The elf did not move from his position by the bed. The men were all flocked behind Gama, watching the exchange in one of the guest chambers to which they were guided a while earlier. And the elf refused to step away from the corner of the room.

"You still do not trust me?" exclaimed the elf, tossing back his long hair. "I guided you safely through the dark forest paths! I fought with you when you ambushed the merchants!"

Gama tilted his head, contemplating. It was true, what the elf claimed. He knew the forest paths well, and though the men had shivered at the sinister sounds of darkness coming from the enchanted forest, they had arrived at the havens without running into harm. And this elf had even joined the fray when the party attacked the merchants on the way, for he claimed that gleaning information from the men was far more useful than killing them. It was the elf who had moved swifter than the wind, knocking every man in the merchant party unconscious before any of Gama's men could raise their blades for blood. Perhaps he could be trusted.

With a sigh, he looked up toward the ceiling. "Perhaps I may trust you yet." He looked down and eyed the elf sharply. "But wrap the cloak about you and join us for the dinner. I will make up an excuse."

The elf was still poised near the bed, regarding them all with apprehension. "Why do you all insist on dragging this out?" he muttered. "Did you not say you wanted to poison their water source? I can sneak into the kitchen and spread the poison."

Gama turned around, hearing a general murmur of agreement among the men. One of the men shrugged, holding up his hands.

"Like the elf says, Gama, why do you insist on going to the feast? We can easily poison them all right now."

Gama glanced toward the elf. "The elf will stay by my side at all times," he growled, and turned back to the men. "He cannot be trusted before we have safely killed the king. And have you fools not seen the grandeur of the palace? Have your eyes missed the bright emeralds and rubies glittering at the scabbards of the guards that walk these halls? Have you not seen the gold inlays in the carved doorways?" He sighed dreamily, and laid his hands on his hips. "No, my comrades, we will not poison them all. We will join forces with the elves, and rebel against the monarch. Then we can share the wealth of the elvenland, with their powers protecting us from the evils of the forest. We cannot dwell alone in the midst of this dark forest."

Mouths fell open. The men stared with incredulity, especially the elf. He seemed to have missed the entire speech.

"You want to rule this kingdom with rebels?" he asked softly, his young eyes disbelieving.

Gama cocked his head. "What say you? Are there enough elves here that harbor resentment toward the king's rule?"

The men behind him began to shake their heads. "What makes you think they will not balk at the idea, Gama?" one of them said. "The plan is far too perilous."

The young man shook his head confidently. "Remember, the merchants said some dark-haired elves had spoken of their painful efforts to change the king's mind about trading with men." He smirked. "There are conflicting interests here, my friends."

The elf spoke up thoughtfully. "Perhaps you are right. The king is of Sindarin descent after all. And many elves here are Silvan elves, who had no king until the present king arrived with his father and established a monarchy."

Gama's eyes lit up. "Hear that?" he cried excitedly, pointing toward the elf. "An ancient grudge! Perfect!"

An encouraged murmur began to spread through the small crowd of men. With a triumphant smile, Gama turned back to the elf. "We will claim this palace as our residence, as the elvenking has stripped us of our families and home. Let us begin our plan."

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_**To Be Continued**_

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**Templa Otmena**: You dazzle me with such compliments every time. I am blushing...yet again! ;) I am so giddy to hear that I am somewhat being successful at delivering my attempts at what you eloquently call 'verse'...so very kind of you! And you are such a deep reader, I am amazed every time. And to have connected this piece to _Unfinished Earth_! Yes, _Unfinished Earth_ is the baking of the soil that I am beginning to put together in this long tale...;) I am so glad that you see the connection! Thank you for your lovely review! How are things going for you?

**Rede**: Sorry it took so long for me to get to the turning point – the pace will definitely pick up from here on out, I can assure you. This is called angst/action/adventure for a reason. ;) Thank you for the review! Hang in there!

**elvingirl3737**: Evil ff net! Bad! Oh, I so want that devoured review back! Oooooh! Well, anyway. I'm calm now. ;) Thank you for your patience in reviewing again! ;)

**Brazgirl**: Rolof? Well, you'll have to see. He will not be gone from this story forever. ;) Thank you for the review!

**Beling**: I am glad to hear that you are still a dedicated fanfic reader! Yay! A comrade! Tee hee. It's always exciting to hear that a reader is enjoying one's story. Thank you for your comments!

**Unsung Heroine**: Yes, I love making you curious...;) Anyway, I agree that PJ did a wonderful job at his movie. And thank you for your promise – I will hold you to it! Be afraid. Mwahahahaha.


	11. The Deadly Game

**Disclaimer**: I do not own LOTR.

**Rating**: PG – 13

**Author's Note**: The _Strength of One Green Leaf_ has won the Flame of Anor Award for Best Action/Adventure. I want to thank the readers who encouraged me to keep making it better!

Many thanks to **Le Chapelier fou**, who reviewed _To Live Another Day_ and _Beasts of Burden_! Your words really encouraged me!

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_**by Kasmi Kassim**_

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_**From Twilight to Dawn**_

**_Chapter 10: The Deadly Game_**

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The palace was in a subtle state of unsettlement. The humans did not know, of course, being strangers to the dwelling; however, Legolas sharply noted that his people felt a strange vibration of darkness. They were courteous as they guided the humans to the dining hall, but the glances they exchanged as they passed by in the halls were clearly restless. The whole palace was nervous. But that was not surprising, considering that they had humans walking in these halls. Legolas could not remember seeing any creature other than elves set foot in this land in his short life – save Mithrandir.

In fact, his father was strangely adamant when it came to humans. Though the elves of his home generally disliked dwarves, their haughtiness toward the race of men was beyond rational, in Legolas' point of view. Of course, if he thought back to his learning in history, it was a leader of men who destroyed the hope of the land by giving into the temptation of the evil ring. Stemming from that fact, it was highly justifiable for his father – or any elf, in fact – to regard humans as weak and hold distaste for them. Countless elves had died like flies to win the one chance that the man had selfishly betrayed his allies to destroy.

But knowing his father, it still seemed odd to Legolas that humans were so abominated in the court of Mirkwood. He knew that the valley of Imladris, an elven sanctuary, was open to all creatures who sought shelter; though Elrond was said to be one who tasted the bitterness of betrayal firsthand in the great war, he did not hold such intense distrust for men. No, his past was behind him, and though he perhaps thought humans weak, he did not look upon them with such utter disdain and contempt. Perhaps it was because of his partial human blood. Even so, the king of the woodland realm was no less generous and forgiving than the lord of the hidden valley. It was unlike him to begrudge the entire human race for the scar in history; though his eyes held a dark sorrow and foreboding in the rare instance that he spoke of the war – Legolas felt that his father wanted to shelter him from the knowledge of the unimaginable pain and terror that made the king shudder – he still spoke of the last alliance of men and elves with longing and respect. Though it had turned into a bloody cry of anguish and bitterness, the last alliance was a grim spark of hope, a proud brotherhood of the children of Arda, which even the grief-stricken Prince Thranduil did not think to taint with hatred.

Had there been another incident, then, which turned his father away from the race of men altogether?

Legolas sank into deep contemplation, his legs mechanically carrying him to the dining hall with the rest of the men. Pulling his dark hood lower over his eyes, he lowered his head, and stared at his moving feet. He did not remember seeing his father talk much about men in his childhood. Legolas was a born diplomat; he had quick intelligence and genuine understanding of people that aided him in dealing with various people in conversation, and his gentle speech worked well to quell intense emotion and persuade disbelieving opponents. Though he was young, he took on his share of discussions and knowledge of ongoing politics, not because of interest, but because he considered it a responsibility of a leader. And throughout his years, he did not once hear his father speak ill of humans – until a few years ago.

It was the prince who had naively agreed with the advisors when they tentatively suggested that trading with humans promised benefits. Without a word, the king had turned a smoldering gaze toward the circle of councilors, and they had fallen silent, bowing to the king's unspoken wrath. Legolas had later asked the advisors if there had been an incident of which he did not know, but none of them had given a clear answer. And his father always curtly replied that there had been none; humans were simply not worth trusting, and he knew from experience. And Legolas had to settle for his own explanation of the history of the war.

But now that he thought about it, something was clearly amiss. There was something he did not know – something important. And did the men not say that his father had massacred their people? Legolas frowned deeply. He had to speak with his father about that particular subject as soon as he had a private moment with him. Though he had left his father in ill terms, and somewhat dreaded facing him again, the urge to discover the truth was greater. Besides, his people were in danger. He could only hope that he would be able to expose these men and lead them into a trap before any more damage was done.

But he was in a bind; the blade that pressed against his side constantly was an ever-present disturbance in his mind. Though he had succeeded in bringing them right where they wished – the very heart of their doom – seeking a chance to turn the tides on them, now he was pressed to improvise, and quickly too, as they were leading him to his father the king. He could still raise a shout, he knew – but such an act could cost his life, and the young prince had fought in enough bloodbath to know better than to waste his life thus. Besides, there were still a fair number of them, and creating havoc would result in injury for his people. He had done what he could in order to separate the men into two parties; he could only count on his kinsmen to take care of the group of men that he had sent away, out of his sight. And as for the party he was accompanying to the halls – he could only hope that his father still held the same wary distrust for men.

He glanced back tentatively, eying the corridors through which they walked. Half of the men had stayed behind in their rooms, feigning fatigue and sickness from the long travel. They were by now probably seeking out some of the Silvan elves, whom Legolas had described in much detail earlier, with instructions on how to find them. Their duty was to convince them to join forces with the men and usurp the throne. _Such a bold plan_, mused Legolas. He briefly wondered how the elves would react. Though he was doted on and pampered, and knew that the people held a deep respect – closer to a divine worship than loyalty – and love for his father, he could not help but wonder if his father's subjects would not be swayed in the least by the temptations offered by the men.

"Please, enter."

The guide moved out of the way, and stood to the side as the men nervously entered the dining hall. Legolas bowed his head and averted his gaze as he passed by the elf. He hoped that the elf had not recognized him under the dark hood. Now was not the time to bring suspicion upon himself and create violence. Gama's possessive hand around his waist, and the hidden dagger that gleamed in his hand, clearly proved that. No, he would wait, and concentrate on his trials of the present moment. Though the reaction of the Silvan elves piqued his interest, he harbored no true fear, for his trust in his people was great. Elves in his kingdom were not weak or tainted with greed.

The men stared in awe as they entered the large hall. Carvings with mithril inlay adorned the ceiling, and various tapestries, paintings, and sculptures decorated the bright walls. A sweet aroma drifted in through the air, and shimmering light warmed the hall with welcome. Sentries armed with glittering armor and flashing weapons lined the walls. The men gulped with anticipation, seating themselves carefully along the long table in the center of the hall. No elf was present, except for the sentries. Perhaps the king would deal with them alone, without advisors. The men did not know whether to be relieved or agitated. They glanced at Gama, who strengthened his grip around the slender elf's waist. They all knew that he was holding the elf at knifepoint, ensuring his cooperation. After all, who knew if elves could be trusted? Perhaps he would seek pardon for his crime by turning them over to his king.

A slight flinch in the adolescent elf's lithe frame indicated that Gama had brutally dug his blade through the elf's clothes. His arm, hidden from view by the elf's dark cloak, was curled possessively around the elf, drawing him closer. He whispered something into the elf's ear and the elf nodded silently. The men began to poke one another and whisper among themselves. They had thought Rolof possessive, but Gama was becoming possessive too, though he lacked the sinister gleam in his eyes. Well, this elf _was_ very desirable. Not fully grown yet, he was still a growing blossom, and though he was clearly male, his features were soft and sweet. Most elves they had seen so far in the palace seemed to straddle the blurred line of gender distinction. Perhaps all elves looked androgynous.

They rose quickly when the herald announced the arrival of the king. None of them, save the silent elf, seemed to note that the representatives of men were made to wait for the representative of elves. This was a loud statement in itself, but they were too busy going over their plan to notice.

When the great doors opened and a majestic swirl of robes waded into view, the men's mouths fell open. They stared, dumbfounded, as the king seemingly glided in a trail of gold toward his seat at the head of the table, his graceful movements radiating an aura of unquestionable power. Their eyes remained glued to the king as he seated himself and began to speak his welcome in a smooth, unaccented tongue of men.

The elf in their possession was undoubtedly beautiful, but he was still an adolescent; though his fair face and body promised great beauty, his features still bordered the two realities of childhood and adulthood, clashing in a sweet and innocent chaos, not yet molded to permanent perfection. And the elves they had so far seen walking in these halls, mostly dark-haired, were immensely beautiful as well, in their formidable arms and graceful bearings. But this king – he was beyond the dimensions of describable beauty.

Questions ran in their heads as they blankly raised their goblets for a toast, following the calm example of the elven king. How old was this monarch? He looked barely past twenty. Why was there an empty seat at his side? What was the source of this formidable dignity, when the lone figure before them was no more than an extremely fair face and a tall, well-muscled body?

A flowing blend of white and green wavered gently before their eyes, as the king raised his goblet to drink. His robes were stately and elegant, but simpler than what they were accustomed to seeing on the king that they had left behind long ago. Though rich and pleasing to the eye in design and fullness, the robes of the king lacked the glittering gems that graced the weapons of every warrior elf that patrolled the halls. Despite the splendor of the palace, extravagance did not seem to be on the top of the list of the king's personal interests. His crown was not even of precious metal or gem; it was a thin wreath of what looked like flowers and leaves. Though it was not what they had been expecting, it was very befitting an elf, and did nothing to diminish the king's dignity and aura of power; it seemed to only enhance his natural, flowing beauty.

Somewhere along his quiet talking, the king raised a question regarding the whereabouts of the rest of the merchants. The men tensed, and glanced at Gama. The young man held up his head stiffly, and replied in an even tone that they stayed in their rooms due to fatigue and sickness. The king showed sympathy and offered his healing quarters, which Gama accepted graciously.

It was clear by now that Gama was established as the leader of the men. The others relaxed, alternating between staring at the food before them and staring at the enthralling beauty of the king. Though his exquisite face was fair beyond their measure, his body was very well-toned beneath the robes, and his strong jaw line and glittering eyes set a distinctive masculine accent on his appearance. Despite his stunning magnificence, the king of elves was less androgynous than many of his subjects. The slender youth in their group, for example.

"Why does your companion hide in a cloak?" asked the king quietly, his expression unchanging from the calm attention that had been held ever since he entered the hall. Gama swallowed, and tightened his hold around the elf's waist.

"This young one here is my wife," he said, pulling the hood down lower. "It is not proper for women in our town to reveal their faces or voices to any male except their husbands."

The king nodded. "But they are fit to travel in a dangerous forest, I see." Turning his eyes away from Gama's momentary expression of panic, he studied the hooded figure by the man. The man tightened the slender figure's waist under the cloak. The king smiled.

"An interesting tradition. I hope that you find our place unoffending, my lady. The ladies in our realm have equal duties and rights as the men, but be assured that they will be delighted to entertain you."

The small figure nodded, and bowed deeper. The king turned his glittering eyes back toward the men.

"Now, my lords, shall we move onto the matter which has brought you to our realm?" Expression unchanging, he neatly intertwined his fingers and rested them on the table.

The men swallowed. The king's bright blue eyes regarded them with serenity, as he gently shook his head to remove a strand of glorious pale golden hair that cascaded down his shoulders. This elf was breathtaking. Their eyes turned to Gama, torn in indecision, as their leader produced a bottle of wine from under the table. The king could be their highest profit, if taken alive. Was assassination really necessary? Pleading eyes burned into Gama, but the leader ignored them, and raised the wine bottle.

"We bring you a gift as our token of goodwill," he announced, and opened the bottle. "Please accept our rare vintage wine, made by hands of men."

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_**To Be Continued**_

**Brazgirl**: Hmm, it will unfold, my dear. Thank you for the review!

**Unsung Heroine**: Haha, you're right about that! Thank you!

**elvingirl3737**: Oh, what a nice thing of you to say! Thank you!

**Coolio02**: Hoho, we're getting there, my dear...thank you for the review! ;)

**Beling**: You keep me on the edge my friend, throwing at me these questions that can make a writer nervous...keep them coming! Thank you for the review!

**Sesshyangel**: Hoho, your first question will be answered shortly...and your second question is answered! Thank you for reviewing!


	12. Assassination and Chaos and a Discovery

**Disclaimer**: I do not own LOTR.

**Rating**: PG – 13

**Author's Note**: Many thanks to **Yavieriel Tarandir**, who reviewed _Tears of Yesterday_! Your words give me much encouragement and blushes ;) I am glad to see that you share some tendencies with me – I, like you, have no interest in people of the opposite gender and have been similarly labeled. Don't you just love it when people label you for not conforming? Haha. I like being deviant anyways. Thank you very much for the beautiful review!

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_**by Kasmi Kassim**_

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_**From Twilight to Dawn**_

_**Chapter 11: Assassination and Chaos – and a Discovery**_

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The men watched nervously as the elves conversed among themselves. They were standing in a cluster, facing the equally numerous elves who stood with their backs against the wall. They had found the Silvan elves – at least, they hoped they were Silvan – as directed by their elven captive. And now that they were alone in one of the guest chambers, the unsuspecting elves did not frighten them as much as they had at first.

"We know that your king is of Sindarin descent," said a young man, who had appointed himself as their spokesperson, as the elves discussed the gravity of the words that had just passed between them. "Why not take back what was rightfully yours? He had invaded your realm and established a monarchy, telling you what to do and how to do it, and you let him rule over you."

The blond elf in the center of the elven cluster turned his head and rapidly spoke to his companions, obviously translating. The other elves watched the men, eyes darkening. One of them hissed at the interpreting elf, and the blond elf shrugged. A chestnut-haired elf crossed his arms and mumbled. A dark-haired elf turned her eyes sharply toward the men and whispered softly. The blond elf in the center turned back to the men.

"What do you seek?" The tone was measured, calm.

The young man took a deep breath. "We can help you rid of your king. We can offer you the alliance of our human kingdom."

They were exiles, yes – but no need to tell them that.

The elf cocked his head. "Where does your kingdom lie?"

"It is hidden." The man glanced at his companions. "No one finds it unless we wish them to."

The elf in the center turned back to his companions and rapidly began to translate. Several elves raised their eyebrows, and stared at the men. More rapid discussions ensued.

"We can rule in brotherhood," added the human hastily, feeling a strange sense of urgency. "We will join forces and drive out the monarch, and rule the land side by side."

The dark-haired elf in the corner tilted her head. Smooth elven words slid from her lips in a slow, measured pace. Her eyes swept over her companions. They nodded.

The blond elf turned back to the humans. The men swallowed. They could feel the vibrations of resolution in the room. The elves had come to a decision.

"We shall be honest with you," began the blond elf, eying each of the men with calm. "If we take you to our king, he will grant you pardon and release, albeit banishment. But we would rather not disturb him, for his heart ails with many troubles. We would ask you to take leave of us quickly, ere we act upon our wrath."

The men froze.

The elves studied them quietly, unmoving. A heavy silence descended.

"But-" stuttered one of the men, "-why do you…when we are offering…" he trailed with uncertainty, glancing from one elf to the next.

The dark-haired elf brushed back a stray strand of her hair. "The Sindarin and Silvan elves live in harmony." The men jolted, staring at the unexpected flow of Westron from this elleth. Her speech was laid with a light accent, but nonetheless fluent. "All elves are kin."

An auburn-haired elf at the back lazily crossed his arms. "It was an unwise attempt in your part, good lords, to attempt to stir an uprising against our king."

A bearded man from the corner growled in fury. "Why?" he demanded, his eyes scanning the motionless band of elves. "Why do you insist on deference to your ruler?"

Their king had banished their families, and had sentenced them, in their young age, to a life of loneliness and hunger. Their king was the one who had doomed them to lifelong misery. Kings had absolute control. And no one could question them.

Why were the elves so blind? So submissive?

The dark-haired elf blinked. She frowned slightly, as if confused by their question. "Because," she replied, "we love our king."

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Legolas' skin was cold with sweat as he watched Gama uncork the wine. Was the wine poisoned? He did not know. But now was the time to take action; he could not risk his father's life in exchange for his own. He could reach out and spill the bottle onto the floor. That would surely raise a clamor, however, and his life would end instantly at Gama's knife.

As Gama held out the wine bottle toward the king's goblet, elegant hands emerged from underneath the folds of the heavy cloak, gently grasping the bottle from the man's hands. Gama's eyes hardened; the cloaked figure seemed to pay no heed, and proceeded to gracefully pour the wine into the king's goblet. The elven king watched with a serene smile, a courteous word of thanks lingering upon his lips as the cloaked figure finished pouring the wine.

The slender youth took a silent inhalation of breath as a brutal grip dug the blade deeper into his skin underneath the cloak, and yet he calmly took out a small pouch from underneath his garment and opened it. The men's eyes widened in panic. Gama's blade pierced the youth's skin. The youth quietly sprinkled a shimmering white powder into the wine, and blew on it, and held it out demurely toward the king. The king bowed and took the goblet.

"A traditional recipe that goes with our wine," explained Gama, a forceful smile upon his lips. His voice was hard, face lined with rigid crevices. Warm blood trickled down from the elf's side; he could feel his grip slipping. The elf did not flinch.

The king smiled, and gracefully brought the wine closer to himself. He then raised the goblet. "Let us raise a toast for the future prosperity of trade between elves and men."

Before the men could protest, the king's hands were already pouring the wine into Gama's goblet. The man paled; the knife dug itself deeper into the elf's side. The slender body was tensing.

Legolas could barely think coherently; he could feel strength escaping him as blood trailed down his body, concealed by the heavy cloak. His head felt light. He could barely breathe due to the man's painful grip around his waist, and in his exhausted state, he could barely raise his voice, let alone struggle free. He wondered if he would collapse before his father did. He could only pray that his emergency ration of antidote had been enough to counteract whatever poison had been in that wine.

"My greatest thanks, my lord," said Gama, smiling with difficulty. "I fear that our men are unused to wine, however. We get terribly sick."

The king creased his brows in concern. "What a pity," he said worriedly, glancing down at the goblet. "I cannot indulge myself to drinking when my guests cannot. We will then settle for water." He placed the goblet some distance away from himself, and reached for the bowl of water that rested on his side.

"To the peace of elves and men." He raised the bowl.

The others followed the example and raised their own bowls, visibly relieved.

Legolas swallowed convulsively. His mouth felt dry. He could no longer feel the blade as it was buried in his flesh; his senses were numb. His vision was blurring. The throbbing pain was acute, but was clouded by his panicked concentration on his father.

"Try the wine, my lord," urged Gama, squeezing Legolas' waist. "My wife poured it especially for you."

The king once again let surface a placid smile, reaching for the goblet. He raised the goblet to his lips. As his vision blurred and the world began to roll and spin faster and faster, Legolas faintly watched his father swallow the drink, horror rendering his heart slower and slower-

"Ah, by the way."

The king lowered the goblet with a slight frown. "One of my guards sighted a band of half-dressed men in the forest. Do you happen to know of this?"

Gama's grip on the knife tensed. Legolas jerked slightly, but his movement only caused the man to intensify his possessive grasp. The knife dug deeper into his tender flesh. The young elf bit back a cry. His throat was hoarse.

"No, my lord," answered the man with ease, a satisfied smile appearing at his lips.

The king stared down at the table, his lips murmuring an answer. His glittering eyes began to glaze. The men around the table began to smile. Gama threw a smile in Legolas' direction, only now realizing that the elf was only helping him assassinate the king.

Legolas fought back the urge to close his eyes and collapse. Though he had used plenty of trickery in his part of the bargain, the man also seemed intent on not following his part of the pact as well. Judging by the way he was holding Legolas, he either planned on keeping him captive, or killing him at the spot. Legolas had hoped that he would find an opening at the face of the king, but no such luck. He had been too late. And now, he was helpless. If he rose to his feet or raised a shout, he would be instantly dead, if Gama decided not to kill his father first. In his mind swirled fervent prayers to the Valar, begging for his father's life, begging that his father be strong enough to fight the poison with the aid of the miniscule antidote.

The young elf labored to breathe. His father was motionless; bright tresses slid down his shoulders and spilled onto the tabletop, and his body relaxed until the golden head gently rested against the table.

The men quickly glanced around. The stature-like sentries were beginning to look in their direction, curiosity piqued by the silence. There was not much time.

_I should have warned him._

Legolas wanted to scream.

_I should have warned him even if it cost me my life._

Was it too late?

The young elf breathed painfully, struggling against Gama's tight grip; he prepared himself to use the last of his energy to break away, when he was startled by a crash.

The men and the elf turned, alarmed, as the grand doors to the hall swung open. A pile of green and brown rushed in, and instantly, the hall was in an uproar.

Elves. Elves were tackling the men, fighting, subduing, shackling. They were as swift as they were deadly. The men did not have a chance to survey their surroundings before they were attacked and rendered immobile, struggling in dumfounded futility.

Grabbing his weakened captive, Gama flew onto the other side of the table, placing himself behind the stilled form of the king. He threw back the hood of his hostage, and roughly pushed aside the fabric of the cloak to reveal the knife that was digging into his side. "Stay back!" he shouted.

The commotion in the dining hall instantly froze. Gama looked around, panting, knife pressing deeper into the motionless elf's side. The armed elves in the hall were staring in silence. The humans were all subdued and held in shackles.

"Stay back, or else..." Gama trailed off, realizing only then that the elf he held was a banished criminal. With a quick curse, he drew back the knife and thrust the young elf aside. As the youth tumbled into a bloody heap on the floor, gasping for breath, Gama rushed to the king, who was slumped peacefully upon the table.

"Move a step and the king is dead," he growled, bringing his knife close to the king's throat. The hall was heavy with silent tension.

Breathing fast, glittering eyes looking around wildly, Gama's mind reeled. What had gone wrong? Had his companions failed to persuade the elves to rebel? Had his plan been too ambitious?

He gripped the elven king's hair viciously, cursing as the soft tresses slipped through his fingers. The knife glistened menacingly against the king's throat.

"Ada!"

The feeble cry resounded from behind before a flash of green rushed past his sight. Gritting his teeth, Gama hissed, struggling against the arms that threatened to wrestle the knife out of his hand. Angry eyes turned toward desperate blue ones. So the elf was a liar after all. He was surprised to find that the injured youth was stronger than he looked.

Even so, blood was flowing steadily from his side. With a painful gasp, the elf was pushed aside. Gama grabbed his arm and held up the knife to his throat.

"You first," he snarled, tightening his hold when the young elf feebly attempted to free himself. The blade glistened pale in the light.

The hand came down. And then, another hand shot up.

The man's body was easily and ruthlessly slammed onto the table as the king rose, his hand holding down the man's hand that held the knife. Gama struggled against the grip, but the strength of the beautiful monarch was deadly. The man was bent over onto the table, gasping against the tablecloth, as the elven king held him down with one hand, his face expressionless. The king blinked, clearing the haze from his eyes.

"Almost like the odd mixtures my elfling made when he was small," he murmured, turning to face the round eyes of the younger elf. When his eyes took in the bruises and the blood that marred the stunned youth, his face finally took on an expression. Seeing the transformation take place, the elves in the hall took a step back, petrified.

Gama's vision was blinded by hot pain when the grip on his arm twirled, resounding in a heavy crack behind his back. He screamed.

Thrashing wildly about, he was suddenly released, and he jumped off of the table, backing away in panic into the arms of the elves. He was pushed onto his knees, and before he realized it, heavy shackles locked his broken arm and wobbly legs.

The king ambled toward his direction, gradually flexing his fingers. His long, elegant fingers were slowly curling and uncurling in a sinister motion that prophesized doom.

"So tell me, my lord merchant," said the king in a low voice, leaning in close, "or should I say, thief in a merchant's disguise?" Slender fingers curved around Gama's chin and lifted his face to meet ice blue eyes. Gama swallowed. The king tilted his head.

"Give me a reason," said the king languorously, the alluring gaze of the lethargic, half-lidded eyes slithering around the man, tempting and deadly. "Give me a reason why I should not snap your neck next."

Sputtering, Gama drew back. But the slender fingers were excruciatingly strong, painful. Tears of pain and misery escaped his eyes. "You – you killed them all!" he choked.

The king did not respond. He remained still, his eyes locked on the sobbing man. Then, he calmly released his chin, leaving him space to breathe. Gama bent forward, taking ragged gasps. The king straightened his back and looked down with impassive eyes. Silent tension was taut in the air.

"Would you continue, my lord thief-merchant?" he said, the suave voice unhurried. Gama glared up with burning hatred in his eyes.

"You killed them all! You massacred my people! All of them! They were already banished from home! And you killed them! You killed them!"

The light in the king's eyes shifted. Gama sucked in his breath. The icy fire that burned in the elf's eyes was beyond comprehension. Beyond fear. Gama found himself unable to move. It was as if he were locked in a trance.

Slowly, the king tilted his head. "I see." Whirling around, he turned to face the elves who watched. "Throw them outside," he ordered.

In an instant, the humans were dragged out of the hall. Many elves remained to clean the disarray caused by the ambush. One elf approached the king with apprehension lining his brows.

"Should we not put them in the dungeons?" he asked, eyes urgent. "They deserve so much more, considering what they have done." His gaze flitted toward the bloody body of the prince. Legolas blinked back.

The king shook his head. "Make sure they never set foot in here again."

He glanced back at his wide-eyed child. And then he turned, his robes swirling and sweeping up the silent air of the hall, and began toward the door.

"Wait."

The king's heart clenched upon the young voice. He halted, and turned slowly, watching his son step forth, clutching his side. Legolas' eyes were sharp.

"Father, why do you chase them away?"

_Do not turn away from me. _

Thranduil creased his brows. "You must go to a healer quickly, Legolas. Follow me." He turned once again toward the great doors.

"Is it true, then, what they say?"

The cold voice cut into the spacious air. The elves stilled into silence.

_Tell me that they lie. Tell me that you did no such thing. _

Slowly, Thranduil turned back around, and faced his son. His face was impassive. The adolescent elf was staring at him with accusations, disbelief written in his eyes. The king did not move. He did not speak.

_Why do you not deny it, Father?_

Legolas' face slowly contorted into a mask of dread and denial. His features stiffened until they seemed frozen in the tension of the air. And his father remained silent.

_Tell me that you are innocent...!_

A flickering fire of fear and despair danced in the youth's eyes. The silence was leaden.

Anything. He would do anything at all to keep his son from knowing. To maintain the veil over the truth. But the veil was fast wearing thin.

The king closed his eyes.

So.

The time has come for the truth.

He could not hide it forever. It was too late now. And his son was no fool.

He could have laughed. He could have wept. But he did neither.

So much for a long-awaited reunion.

"Legolas, come with me to the healing wing."

"Did you massacre the human settlement?"

Fire burned in the youth's eyes.

Would he lie to his child? Secrets, yes, he could keep them – but would he face him, and blatantly lie?

His son wanted him to. Valar, his son would have taken a lie if it was the answer he wanted. Thranduil took a deep breath, and wordlessly disappeared out the door.

The elves watched the prince in taut anticipation. Legolas stood still, as if turned to stone. And then, in a blur of green and red, he swiftly whipped out of the hall.

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_**To Be Continued**_

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**Unsung Heroine**: Yes, your wish is my command...most of the time. ;)

**Brazgirl**: I had hoped that you would be find my featuring of Thranduil to your liking! Hahaha. I hope the future chapters keep your interest piqued. Thanks for reviewing!

**K'lara7**: You think so? Hehe. I'm glad you liked my descriptions. Thank you!

**elvingirl3737**: Yes, I love my Thranduil, can you tell? ;) I'm glad you liked my details! Thank you!

**Templa Otmena**: Oh, I did have a lovely time writing Legolas' insight and reminiscence. I'm glad you had a good time reading it! And isn't it fun to create your own little world of elves? Hoho, I am having fun writing about the elves in Mirkwood – as I seldom have a chance to really go in depth with them! And as always, I am excited to see you reading into themes in my story...;) And as for the yet-to-be-told history of Thranduil and the men...hehe. Sooh, my dear, soon...Anyway, you may be going onto a university, my dear? Congratulations! Thank you for your lovely reviews!

**Rede**: Oh, I do love leaving my readers hanging. (cackles) I'm glad you liked my Thranduil! Thank you!

**Lyn**: Whoa, that startled me. I knew that medically I was being incorrect, but I had hoped to slip past scrutinizing eyes by skipping the actual detail of the scene – but I suppose I am now caught red-handed! Hahaha. Thank you! Glad to hear from you!

**Beling**: My dear, the real eloquence and beauty is flowing in your review. Wow! And thank you for describing what you felt while reading the chapter; your description captivated me! Beautiful!


	13. All That Weeps

**Disclaimer**: I do not own LOTR.

**Rating**: PG – 13

**Author's Note**: Many thanks to **Gabriel**, who reviewed _Tears of Yesterday_! I am so honored to hear that you like my writing style in that piece – I will have to try to cultivate that style more thoroughly! ;) Thank you so much for your praise, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the stories I write! They all interconnect eventually! ;)

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_**by Kasmi Kassim**_

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_**From Twilight to Dawn**_

**_Chapter 12: All That Weeps_**

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The forest was dark. The guards moved silently through the path, determined to drop off the men as far away from the castle as possible. Painful groans filled the air as mortal bodies dragged in the dirt, but the elves paid no heed.

"Wait!"

The guards turned in surprise and watched their prince run toward them, blood trickling down his side. "My prince!" cried a guard, quickly rushing over to catch his faltering steps. The prince gasped for breath as he skidded to a halt before the group of guards and men.

"Do not...banish them..." panted the prince.

The captain of the guards frowned in confusion. "But my prince, my lord your father has commanded-"

"Put them in the dungeons!" hissed the prince. Defiant young eyes looked up at the captain. The humans stared, dumbfounded amidst the exchange of words they could not comprehend.

The captain shook his head apologetically. His lips were set in a grim line of determination. "Forgive me, my prince," he said. "But the king-"

The prince's hand shook. He looked up suddenly, and the guard took a step back. The intense fire that raged in his eyes was that of his father, of the young prince Thranduil in his hour of wrath.

What choice did he have?

The guard took a deep breath. To disobey the king, or to disobey the prince. The wrath of the king, or the wrath of the prince.

Before he could act, the prince made the choice for him. The young elf shoved the guard out of the way, and grabbed Gama's collar. Seemingly oblivious to the shackles wound around the prisoner's limbs, he promptly turned toward the castle. Panicked, a guard blocked his way. Legolas looked up defiantly.

"They will perish if you leave them to the orcs like this!" hissed the prince.

The guard clenched his fists. "Do they deserve any less, my prince?" he asked, eyes hard. His gaze flitted toward the bloody trail that marked the adolescent's path. "Do they deserve to live, after what they have done, after what they have tried to do?"

The prince stared down at Gama, who was on his knees, too petrified to do anything but stare back. Then the prince turned his eyes to scan the rest of the men. The men who had attended the feast, the men who had tried to convince the Silvan elves to rebel against the king. He turned back to the guard. His eyes were glazed with glittering desperation.

"I care not whether they live or die," he whispered. "But I need answers."

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Thranduil paced restlessly back and forth, biting his lips as he did so. The study seemed suddenly small, suffocating. He looked up toward the splendid tapestry that hung on the wall, an image of a happy family of three. The king, the queen, and the prince...all smiling, all so happy.

"What would you tell him?" he whispered, coming to a halt. Hesitant fingers reached out, gingerly touching the tapestry. "What would you say?"

_Why did you kill them, Father?_

As he let the healer bandage his side, the youth had penetrated him with his gaze, the young eyes shooting into his heart an innocence that was proud and honest – and all the more fragile because of it. Those azure blue orbs had burned into him, defiant, pleading. He gritted his teeth.

_Did you really do that, Ada? Massacre helpless humans? Did you really? _

With a shuddering breath, he closed his eyes.

"I do not want to be a disappointing father," he whispered wearily. He opened his eyes. The light blue eyes were forlorn, helpless. "Help me. Tell me how to weather this."

Trembling fingers painfully clutched the tapestry.

"Sire!"

He whirled toward the door, when a guard burst in. With a quick bow of apology, the guard looked up with urgency. "Orcs are attacking, my lord. They have penetrated the defenses while the watchers were distracted by high alarm calls from the castle. The prince is out there."

Thranduil's breath stopped.

_Have you ever killed an elf, Father?_

"Call the healers on alert," he ordered briskly, grabbing his bow from the wall. "Summon the fourth squad to the north."

The sentry ran back out. Thranduil threw off his long robes, revealing a light armor strapped over a tunic. The armor had become a customary element to his daily dress now. He grabbed his sword and strapped it onto his side.

"Disobedient, stubborn, fool of a leaf," he muttered, glancing out the window toward the garden. Toward the empty stone bench that rested in his sight.

_Did you know that we have been killing tortured, mutilated, wretched elves?_

"Valar, don't you dare take him away again," he muttered, and flew out of the room.

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"Stop!" cried a guard, running toward the prince amid the swarming orcs. "My prince, no!"

Legolas was cutting his way through the orcs, wading through the panicked screams of the men who were attempting to free themselves of their shackles. Cries of despair ripped through them as orcs lunged into their midst. The men would meet their doom if left in their shackles; the group of elves was small, and reinforcements could not be expected anytime soon – the entire kingdom was still in an uproar after what had just transpired. Instantly foreseeing the doom of the men, Legolas already had his knife drawn as he ran toward them amid the frenzy of shouts and roars and blades.

"My prince!" cried another guard. The prince paid no heed. Vicious swings sparked right and left, and he was a golden flash that flew among the men, cutting their chains loose.

"Run!" he cried in the human tongue, turning away from the men and facing the orcs once more. The men could receive no protection from the elves presently; they would need to protect themselves hereafter. The elves fought their way to the prince, and realigned around him. The men backed away from the deadly flickers of blades wielded by the elves. Backing away, back toward the path. Toward the orcs.

The prince glanced, and his eyes widened in horror.

"No!" he cried. "Come back! The orcs will kill you!"

The men were too blinded by panic and terror to pay heed. They moved away from the bandaged body of the youth; one man turned and ran, away from the young elf who was their captive before and now protected by his kinsmen. The rest of the men followed suit; they took to their heels and fled amid the chaos. Straight toward the orcs that kept coming and coming.

Catching a bow and a quiver of arrows that a sentry threw toward him, Legolas quickly shot down one of the orcs that rushed toward the men. "Come back!" he cried, desperation shattering his voice into the sunless sky. The men were running to their death. Animosity and hatred forgotten, he leaped to and fro, battling orcs, calling for the men. Men and elves were brothers once...were they not?

Or was that all in the past now?

_The orcs were elves once_, the old man had told him. In the fading light of the dark forest, he had smiled mysteriously through his silver beard, almost as ancient and wise as a Maia. _But that is all in the past._

Legolas felt cold. His hands trembled.

But it was all in the past. The orcs were no longer elves. They were the enemy. They had killed his mother. It was all in the past. It was all in the past. Humans were no longer allies. It was all in the past.

Gritting his teeth, he shot toward the orcs once again.

It was all in the past. Nothing more.

Valar, who was he fighting?

Legolas' breaths began to accelerate, out of sync with his honed movements. His body knew exactly what needed to be done, despite the confusion in his head.

"My prince!"

Legolas leaped back as a black blade grazed his neck. He shook his head in desperation.

The orcs were elves once. But they were enemies now.

The humans were brothers once. But they had tried to kill his father.

The orcs were attacking. He had to save the humans.

Or did he?

Who was he fighting? What was he fighting?

What was he afraid of? What was he trying to blot from his sight? Erase from existence, from his knowledge?

His eyes widened as an orc fell at his swing, inches away from Legolas' face.

Face the enemy. They are the enemy. Face the present. Kill to survive. Kill before you get killed. Kill whoever tries to kill you. Do not discriminate among your foes. Your enemy is whoever threatens your existence. Even your father, even your son.

All in the past.

The world blurred around him. His body was shaking uncontrollably. Somewhere distant, he heard the screams of the men.

Legolas watched, feeling strangely numb, as the men's bodies flew into the air. Shredded to pieces along with crimson splashes. Trampled under heavy feet. The world was spinning.

All in the past, Legolas. All in the past. It does not matter.

Kill them before they kill you.

His body continued to kill, but he was not in his body. He was somewhere else, someplace haunted and vague and misty – and watching, watching his body perform the beautiful and deadly dance under the dulled rays of the sun.

Bright red flashed before his eyes.

"Run, Prince!"

He turned, slowly and numbly, as an orc leaped into the air and dived toward him. His arm raised a silver blade, calmly, waiting for the orc to arrive to doom.

_No!_

He suddenly twirled his body to the side, managing to avoid the pounce and the swing. The orc leaped on top of him before he could roll and get back onto his feet; they were soon locked in a desperate struggle, the orc diving maniacally toward the white throat that concealed pumping red blood, the unmarred creature fighting to keep breathing.

Two blades crossed and trembled, a silver cross under the gray skies. Red eyes met blue, teeth were bared, hot breaths mingling between the weapons of death that pressed against each other.

The perfect balance began to slide when the elf twisted his blade, pulling it to the side and raising the following elbow into the orc's face. The whole weight of his body thrown off balance as the swords slid further to the side, the orc momentarily loosened his grip when the elf's elbow attacked his facial bone, swift but powerful. An ear-splitting screech of metal ensued, and the silver cross fell apart, each drawing a slender silver arc under the gray sky. The orc's sword flew across the bloody dust and fell some distance away, onto the dirt. The orc attacked with renewed ferocity using bare hands, and the elf's sword also rolled in the dirt. The two began struggling bare-handed, rolling on the black soil. Everywhere the fallen creature of long-gone beauty touched, he clawed with howls and grunts, and under his vengeful hands the smooth skin began to break and tear, marring more and more the target of his eternal wrath, the creature that still walked upon the earth with bliss and song and beauty.

Fierce pants and growls mingled in the air as the blessed and the cursed clawed at each other. Warm blood pumped from the broken surface of the elf, seeping into the black soil. And under the bloody struggle of the two irreconcilable brethren, the dark earth began to gather puddles of damp blood, and soon the two creatures were savagely thrashing in the puddles of warmth that splashed, reached into the calm gray skies, rained on them again – orc soaked in red, elf soaked in black – and mournfully, silently, the mingling red and black began to stream and flow on the warm moist earth in salty rivulets.

The orc's claws dug deeper into the elf's throat. The elf's foot grazed an abandoned bow. The orc began to crush the elf in a deadly grip. The bow twirled and flew into the elf's hand. The orc froze as the sharp end of the bow slammed into the back of his neck. A whimper of pain escaped his lips.

Out of the puddle of black and red, one creature fell and remained still, and one creature rose unsteadily, broken and marred.

The battle was dying away.

Legolas looked up to see another orc point an arrow toward him. An elven arrow. Legolas' eyes suddenly filled with mist. Why the daylight suddenly became foggier, he did not know.

He watched, strangely drained, as the elven arrow flew in his direction. His body moved automatically, but it staggered and collapsed onto its knees. Legolas hung his head.

A clear thump was heard. Legolas raised his gaze, and saw the arrow jammed against a tree that stood to his side, some distance away. Wedging it securely against the trunk was another arrow, its tip cleanly piercing the shaft of the arrow intended for him.

Legolas turned his head. Another arrow was released from the side, opposite of the tree. The orc fell dead.

With difficulty, wondering at the sudden haziness in his sight, Legolas stood. Standing still in the silver mist, his father was tall, beautiful, distant. Watching him in silence. Legolas stared numbly at the practiced fingers hovering over the bowstring, and at the orc that fell dead. And then, back at the orc that had fallen at his hands.

The din had died down. Warriors were helping each other stand, collecting weapons. No deaths on the elves' side. The corpses lying around were humans and orcs, their faces hideously twisted in terror and anger, their bodies crudely broken and frozen in their last movement before death, bathed in blood.

The battle was over. And Legolas stood still, drained, relieved, restless.

It had felt...like home.

The battle. The killing. The deadly dance of arrows and blades. It was his home, where his heart sang.

Never mind what had happened in the past. He did not have to think, did not have to wonder. He only killed what was before him, facing the present, unquestioning, only answering his instinct. All doubt had fled his mind when he lost himself in the battle.

Death was what he knew best.

And for the first time in the wake of after-battle relief, Legolas wanted to cry.

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As the guards cleaned the area and glanced in his direction, the king stood still and silent, his armor unmarred, his hair resting serenely on his shoulders and chest, fingers still hovering over the bowstring that had saved his son. Standing still, as if still watching the ghost of his son that had long disappeared. And from the depths of the dark forest that embraced his child, a nightingale began its lonely song.

Stilled in time among streams of warmth that flowed under their feet, two pairs of blue had met, clashed, mingled – and after the prolonged silence, azure blue eyes had turned away, and the youth had disappeared into the darkening forest.

And the king knew – that the haze had cleared from the youth's eyes, crystallizing into a heavy trail into the mournful silence of the dark earth.

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_**To Be Continued**_

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**Unsung Heroine**: Oh yes, the tension...;) I enjoy your comments so. Thank you!

**Coolio02**: Yes, I love father/son tension. Haha. Thanks for the review!

**Brazgirl**: I hope your conflict with your father gets resolved soon. It is hard, isn't it, being disappointed in people. But it will be all right! Be happy! ;)

**Rede**: Hahaha, sorry to frustrate you. This one isn't much of a cliffhanger, is it? I love cliffies... I can only thank you for putting up with me! ;)

**elvingirl3737**: Oh, I'm glad you liked the sequence! Can you tell I love Thranduil too? ;) Haha. Thank you!

**Templa Otmena**: What a joy to hear your enjoyed the chapter as much as I enjoyed the painful writing process! Thank you for your lovely descriptions of what you felt. And as you do, I worship the ground Thranduil walks on as well. ;) Well, hold on my dear, the descriptions about the past are coming soon...soon...well, sometime. I will focus this story on the discovery and the youth's struggles to deal with various issues, and the past events will be revealed in a prequel that will began immediately after this story is finished. And believe me, this story is getting there! ;) My Greenleaf Chronicles spans several multi-chapter fics that rival the length of _The Strength of One Green Leaf_ and prequels and sequels will crop up one after another, starting with this one. ;) I have them all planned out. So anyway, are you decided in your path now? Going to the uni? I passed my interview with flying colors and am set to study abroad in the fall. But fear not, this fic will be long finished before I leave, and hopefully the next fic too ;) Thank you for the lovely review!


	14. Pale Darkness, Tainted Light

**Disclaimer**: I do not own LOTR.

**Rating**: PG – 13

**Author's Note**: Thank you to **Avalon Estel**, who reviewed _In the Dark of the Night_! I agree with your thoughts there, and surprise surprise, my sister is the same way as yours! ;)

Thank you also to...um...SPUW Commander, ruler of the eastern hemisphere...ehem...yeah. For reviewing To Live Another Day. Thank you! That was sweet!

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_**by Kasmi Kassim**_

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_**From Twilight to Dawn**_

**_Chapter 13: Pale Darkness, Tainted Light_**

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Daylight was fading.

Among the dark, ancient trees moved a silent figure of old, still with wisdom and vibrant with life. The tall body glided among the bark and leaves as if one with them, as dark and still, and yet it moved without pause, seemingly gliding in and out of the dark, as a silent snake would glide in and out of patches of sunlight and shadows. And thus moved the tall shadow, shrouded in darkness, embraced by the silence breathed by his home. A gentle glimmer of pale gold flickered between the dark tangle of bushes, a deep and ancient gold that breathed with the rustic dust of ages in the forest.

In the darkened light, a blue glint slowly blinked, narrowed. The figure stepped out of the shadows of the trees, and moved onto the forest path. He did not move further. He watched, silent, as the slender youth crouched in the middle of the dusty path, murmuring comfort to an injured orc.

Foolish, idealistic, stubborn elfling.

Not even a rustle of a leaf could be heard as the king approached and came to a stop behind his son. Legolas' lips moved in inaudible whispers of comfort as he pressed his hand against the chest of the panting orc. The orc was somehow...different.

Thranduil's eyes deepened thoughtfully as he watched. Something about the orc was young, feminine. Perhaps it had not finished aging? Or perhaps it was a half-breed? Maybe it had not finished evolving from...what it had been. He shook away the thought, lips thinning into a grim line. It did not matter.

"Do you not grow tired, Father?"

The quiet voice drew his attention toward the young one, who sat still, head bowed. Thranduil stared down at the crown of golden head, silent.

"Do you not grow weary of fighting every day? Holding onto the edge of hope for years, watching our beautiful home wither away? Fighting...for a right to exist?"

His gentle child let out a long, weary breath. The orc under his hand stilled. Legolas stroked the wounded chest soothingly.

"I want to know, Father. I want to find answers, so that we can stop this cycle. I want to...escape from this."

Without a word, Thranduil slowly lowered himself, and crouched by his son's side. He stared down at the orc, who bared his – or was it her? – teeth. He smiled humorlessly at the orc's discrimination. Perhaps it was all for the best. It made it easier to end its life anyway. All of their lives.

"So do I, my son."

Legolas' pale fingers slowly stroked the orc back to calm. The orc continued to eye the king warily, but became quiet again under the prince's touch. The young elf had the soul of a healer.

"I have known the identity of orcs ever since I was a youth." The king made no move to touch the creature. He narrowed his eyes, gaze becoming distant. "I have continued to fight them for centuries, millennia – and I continue to fight them still."

Legolas let out a heated breath. "Why?"

Without answering, the king encircled his knees with one arm, and lowered his other arm onto the ground, drawing idle patterns on the dirt. Long strands of hair streamed down and mixed with the dusty colors of the ground. The tresses swept up the lifeless skin of the earth, becoming coated in grime and weary dust, their inherent golden luster hidden beneath the thick filth. He watched his golden hair dance in the mud with his pale finger, thoughtful eyes narrowed.

"What can we gain by continuing this, Father?" Large eyes stared, frustrated, into the moaning orc.

Thranduil's eyes traced his finger as it continued to draw in the dirt. And soon, his dirtied hair was becoming a part of the dance, a wild and savage snake that writhed in the soil. He watched on in silence.

"Day by day, our forest continues to die. Our people continue to fight, our healers chant and pray over the wounded every day. I received my warrior plaits before I learned how to ride." The young prince sighed wearily, smiling with reluctance when the orc looked up in panic. "Will this ever end?"

The king's hand slowly grasped the dirt, letting the brown earth crumble lifelessly and sift through the long fingers.

"As long as we continue to fight, we can continue to hope." The king's eyes were deep, distant, as they shimmered upon the trickling soil. Slowly streaming, as steady and unending as time. His voice flowed steadily on. "We fight for a right to hope, Legolas. We fight to survive today, so that we may open the day of tomorrow with our hands."

"But-!"

Pleading eyes looked up into his. Thranduil looked down at the orc. The gasps, the ragged breaths. It was dying.

"The orcs were once us, I know." He loosened his hold of his knees and lowered them onto the ground. Cold hands pressed firmly upon the warm earth. "They are no different from us. The only difference is that they were overwhelmed and conquered by the shadows that we all hold in our hearts, the fear and bitterness that may yet take an elf alive. The manifestations of the darkest despair."

Thranduil's lashes lowered. Legolas remained silent. The father looked up, a gentle shimmer in his eyes.

"That is why we must continue to fight them, Legolas."

A dim smile laced his lips as he touched his son's tangled hair with a finger. A smudge of dirt coated the glistening blond strand. Searching his father's face, the glimmering eyes and the age-worn smile, the tenacious and weary smile that masked deeper sorrows within, the son bit his lip.

Seeing his gentle child's eyes shimmering with sadness, Thranduil stood. "The most difficult fight of all is the one against the weariness of one's heart." His voice was low, resolute. "Be not defeated, Legolas."

Legolas watched as his father turned and slowly walked back toward the castle. His father's retreating back. The proud, tall stature. The broad shoulders that had always supported him, the strong arms that had always held him. His father had always loved him with his life, and he had always known it. He just tended to forget a bit too often.

_I'm a selfish, stubborn, juvenile fool,_ he mused humorlessly. _I wonder if I will ever grow out of this._

Turning toward the dying orc, he gently stroked the broken skin.

_But Ada...I am so tired._

He did not want to be tired any more.

The orc stared back with panicked eyes. Its breaths were coming in shallow gasps. The pulse was quickening in fear. Legolas closed his eyes.

There was once a time when he used to worship the heroes of old. When good battled evil, and always triumphed at the end. When valiant warriors lived on in songs, and met deaths to save others' lives.

But this was no longer a fairy tale. Mirkwood elves lived every day with the ancient valor flowing in their rustic veins, wielding weapons at the forefront of battle, protecting their kingdom. Because the king and the prince were to protect the people, despite the newly growing system of men that was spreading in the more peaceful lands, where leaders ordered others to ride to the front. But even so, even with the valor and the spirit of life that sharpened their blades, their lives were no longer simple; they could not be simple, even if they wished it.

Good and evil were black and white. But now, they were shades of gray.

There was no longer the ultimate evil hand, and the evil minions; no, the cruel minions were his tortured kin, and the tyrant who burned down a village was his kind father. The evil men who wanted his father dead were sad and desperate children who had lost everything dear. And strength was leaving his fingers that held the bow and knife; his aim was unsteady, his vision blurred, and the ground was collapsing under his feet.

His father knew...did he not?

Stroking the groaning orc's chin, Legolas sighed.

His father knew. Being the mightiest warrior in the land was no more a glorious title; lives here were simple, but the world they lived in was not. Being a warrior was no longer valiant and just; it was dirty, bloody, and sometimes – it was not worth the tears. Warrior was no longer an apt title; they were killers, all of them. They killed for a right to survive – and did they really have more right to survive than the orcs did? No, whoever survived was the righteous one. Whoever turned out victorious wrote history. History had always belonged to the victor, the conqueror, the killer.

They were in a war. Was this what a war really was about? Legolas wanted to laugh.

_Ada...I am so tired._

Did he not grow weary as well? His father grew weary, yes, but a king could not grow weary. He continued to fight, struggling with the growing grime of dust and blood that tainted his hands, knowing that he was no longer the brilliant beacon of justice and heroism. He continued to protect his people, only because he could, because he was stronger than the orcs. And all around them, the confusion grew, and good and evil were enmeshed, and the world was screaming louder and louder.

Maybe one day, the world would revert back to its simple ways. And then, they would be sure again, and divide good and evil. But with the fading of elves, and the growth of men, men who were weak against temptations of evil, who were both good and evil at the same time, the world did not seem to be coming to that time anytime soon.

Breathing deeply, desperately, he raised his eyes and raked back his hair. And he lowered his gaze once again, his palm remaining pressed against his forehead; hidden beneath the hand, his large eyes were glazed and trembling, staring into a distance, into nothingness, into himself.

_I have not the greatest of healing powers yet,_ he whispered in silence. _I am injured and weary._

But...

With a deep exhalation, he pressed his hand down against the orc's chest. Waves of healing magic began to flow from his hands. The orc flinched.

_I will share with you my strength, if you share with me your pain._

It was all so confusing. He wanted to escape from it all. But he could not; he would not. He would follow this path, and see where it led – even if it led him to deeper chaos and more terrible confusion and pain. He had to see if there was an end to this, a root to this cycle. Where did evil end, and where did goodness begin? Were there such things anymore? What if it had all been an illusion?

The orc opened its mouth, panting. It began to struggle in pain. Legolas furrowed his brows.

_Open for me. _

The orc bared its teeth.

And suddenly, with a cold twist in his stomach, Legolas realized a truth that he had been surrounded in all along – the truth that was so prevalent that he had failed to see it.

Just as the elves struggled to survive, so did the orcs; just as the elves were wrathful, so were the orcs; just as the elves were sad, so were the orcs – at least, they would be, if they had not been stripped of that emotion. Any emotion. They were no longer capable of feeling any emotion at all; they were reduced to savage beasts, lusting for food, drink, flesh, and violence. They were as miserable as elves were, and more. There was no longer anything glorious about defeating orcs; there was no honor in slaying tormented souls. Legolas felt dizzy.

It was not a simple thirst for vengeance; it was not a necessity of life, of good versus evil. It was a struggle to survive, yes, but there was nothing justified, nothing righteous, about it.

So this was what it was. What had been wearying him down. He realized that he had already known when he had spoken to Arwen.

This was it, the dirty and complicated web of violence where no one was right and no one was wrong. Where rationality and peace were unanimously put aside for reversion back to the savage ways, and children of Arda plunged themselves into the inferno of hatred and blindness and death. The flimsy coating of civilization put on the most barbaric form of survival, tainted by the tragic gift of intelligence.

So this was what all wars actually looked like.

The orc slowly lay back, panting, closing its eyes in exhaustion. A pale glow began to surround them both, orc and elf. Legolas gritted his teeth.

The war had to end.

_Show me your pain. Let the healer see them; the healer can mend you. Show me your pain._

It was a manifestation of all that was incongruous, all that was dissonant and violent and primeval. All that was evil and ugly, a chaos that could not be justified with any glorious reasons.

Was there a way to end this war?

Lost in the world of darkness and screams, Legolas sat back, eyes closed in concentration. The orc moaned.

The woods began to darken in the setting of the sun.

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_**To Be Continued**_

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**Unsung Heroine**: Thank you! I am glad to hear it; that part of the scene, to tell you the truth, was not intended until the last minute...hehe.

**Deana**: Good to hear from you again! Thank you for waiting!

**Brazgirl**: Oh yes, the good ol' father-and-son action...mwahahahaha.

**elvingirl3737**: I am glad to hear you liked it! Thank you!

**Sesshyangel**: Yes, it is really deviant from the mood of the Strength of One Green Leaf, isn't it? Sigh. But hey, adolescence...there will be more struggles, yes, but love will still fight to hold on too. And I am looking forward to featuring a younger Legolas in the upcoming prequel! I hope you stay around for it! ;)

**Coolio02**: Wow, I am honored. Thank you, it's really encouraging to hear your words!


	15. Hell

**Disclaimer**: I do not own LOTR.

**Rating**: PG – 13

**Author's Note**: I realize that this is a late update – apologies to those who waited! This time the chapter is extra long. ;) I want to say thank you to all who give me reviews, and an extra thank you to those who come back to give me reviews without fail! You people are the reason I keep writing. ;)

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_**by Kasmi Kassim**_

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_**From Twilight to Dawn**_

**_Chapter 14: Hell_**

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The corpses were almost all cleared out of the path when hoof beats invaded the forest. Thranduil raised his eyes and stared into the darkness of the trees. Elven warriors fanned about him protectively, bows raised.

Like a dark mirage of a distant dream, two brown steeds appeared from the depths of the woods. The riders were draped in dark cloaks, one of them holding a limp figure in his arms. Steady eyes, reflecting the gentle silver haze of the fading light, regarded the king. The elven warriors around the king tensed.

When they got near, one of the riders, the one who did not hold the limp body, held up a hand.

"Hold, mighty warriors of Mirkwood. We come in peace."

Relieved breaths could be heard here and there as Thranduil stepped forth, his gaze glowing quietly in response to the unfaltering eyes of the approaching elves. He touched his heart with a slight nod.

"Forgive our inhospitality, sons of Elrond. You are most welcome."

As the rest of the elven warriors bowed behind their king, the two riders leaped off of their mounts, and bowed deeply with their hands upon their hearts. Their eyes had already finished assessing the trace of battle around the calm warriors.

"Well met, King Thranduil. It is an honor."

Pale blond hair gently tapped the armor-clad body as the king neared them with a weary smile, his movements gliding with practiced ease that radiated strength and weariness. He halted when he recognized the form in Elladan's arms.

"Legolas?" The king quickly took the body from Elladan, an urgent light in his eyes. The youth moaned softly. His eyes were shut as if in pain.

Elladan and Elrohir fell in pace with the king when the king swiftly turned and hurried toward the castle. The twins's demeanors transformed ever so slightly, into those of youngsters once again facing an elder after a long time of solitude and self-reliance.

"We found him healing an orc," explained Elrohir.

Thranduil halted in his tracks. Bewildered eyes turned toward the younger elves before him. "From the beginning, if I may," he said quietly, briskly.

Elrohir glanced at Elladan, who bit his lip. The trio began to move once more.

"We had been following a pair of men who sought to infiltrate Imladris in search of Legolas," explained Elladan. The three swiftly entered the courtyard, and the brothers barely had time to gesture a greeting toward the guards as they entered the palace. "Their tracks led to Mirkwood, so we entered, seeking your knowledge in this matter."

Elrohir glanced around at the walls, recognizing the hallway that led to the House of Healing. "We saw a man left in ropes near the borders, and he told us that he was left to die because he sighted a struggle between an elf and men-"

"-So we hurried here as fast as we could-"

"-And we saw a luminescent light, and realized that it was a healing light-"

"-So we got there to find Legolas crouching by a dying orc-"

"-Healing not only its injuries but also its heart and memories-"

"-And when we interrupted, the orc broke away, and fled-"

"-And Legolas collapsed at the spot."

Thranduil's facial muscles were tense. Elladan quickly opened the doors to one of the healing chambers, and the king strode in with a nod of greeting toward the surprised healer. He gently rested the prince upon the bed.

"Foolish child," he muttered, standing back to allow the healer to fuss over the prince. He turned toward the worried expressions of the brothers. His shoulders suddenly dropped, sagging from a release of heightened tension.

"Forgive me," he said wearily. "I have been a shameful host."

The twins hastily waved their hands. "Think nothing of it, my lord," said Elladan, embarrassed to be a recipient of the older elf's apology. "We heard the battle long before we arrived. And with Legolas in such a state-" glancing toward the prone body on the bed, he was at a loss for words; he opted to turn back to the king with an uneasy smile instead. "We were worried about him as well, and..."

"Our father sends you his regards," cut in Elrohir, jabbing Elladan's ribs inconspicuously with an elbow.

Thranduil nodded, and gestured toward the door. "You must be tired. Let me guide you to your rooms."

"Oh no, that is hardly necessary," said Elladan quickly. His concerned gaze flitted toward Legolas' motionless body. The healer was cleaning his wounds. "We would rather stay here with Legolas." Elrohir nodded in agreement.

Thranduil sank down wearily on one of the empty beds, and the twins also took a seat on a bed facing him. With a long-suffering sigh, Thranduil tilted his head.

"Do you know what this all means? There have been humans about lately, threatening my life."

The twins grew silent, mouths agape. After a quick glance at each other, they turned toward the king. "No, my lord," said Elrohir uncertainly. "That is certainly a surprise. Our father told us that there was a shadow of danger looming over Legolas, but..."

"We hoped that you could tell us," added Elladan softly. "Humans had come looking for a certain Lord Legolas in Imladris as well. But it did not look as if they had ever met him."

The king sank into thought. His mind was reeling.

Humans thirsting for revenge, driven mad by hatred and greed.

Humans who sought out Legolas, though they did not know what he looked like.

An old man who conveniently appeared in Legolas' time of self-doubt and clouded his mind with a revelation...

Thranduil's brows creased. Was it a stretch? Was he thinking too far back? Was the old man's revelation about the orcs just a case of coincidence? After all, he did not have anything to do with this incident...

Another soft moan brought him out of his reverie. The king turned to watch the healer press his hand onto the prince's chest, which was now cleaned and bandaged. Legolas shook his head feebly. "Stop..." he whispered. The healer quickly drew back.

Thranduil stood, and approached the bed. The healer looked up helplessly. "He is rejecting me," he said, despondent.

The king bit his lip. Attempts had been made on his life. His son could have died. All of this happened within the span of his child's internal suffering.

Something in him refused to believe that the old man was unrelated to the incident. His child was lying here, suffering in anguish. Thranduil would have reached to any clue, any clue at all, to wrench out an answer to this.

As the healer looked up at the king in unease, Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other. Elrohir nodded to Elladan, and a look of understanding was exchanged. Elladan stood. "Allow me."

The healer moved out of the way, and the twins approached the bed. Elrohir took a seat beside the king, and lightly tugged on the sleeve of the monarch with childlike innocence. As if awakened from a trance, Thranduil blinked, and slowly sank down onto the chair by the bed. Elladan kneeled by the bedside and gently placed his hands upon the younger elf's chest.

"Legolas."

He closed his eyes. Thranduil watched on, silent, unmoving. A pale light began to glow from within the young elf. The light slowly surrounded Elladan's body, and spread around to frame the figure of the blonde prince. Silent incantations began to weave in and out and around the form of the young Imladris elf. The runes were visible to all occupants in the room except for the king, who was not a healer. Nonetheless, the king could feel the vibrations of the magic just as keenly, if not more. He was, after all, a king. One who inherited the magic of the land.

Legolas moaned softly, feebler than before. Elladan added slight pressure to his heart with his hand. "Let me in, little brother," he whispered. One hand began to slowly stroke the creased brows of the younger elf. "Let me see the horrors you have seen."

The younger elf moaned again, and raised a shaky arm. Elladan opened his eyes. The trembling hand was pushing him weakly away.

The light in the room faded. Elladan sat still, chewing on his lip, as Legolas' moans grew in volume. Suddenly, the prince opened his eyes.

Thranduil leaned forward anxiously, as hazy eyes blinked to regain focus. When they looked around, at last clear and focused, they widened in terror.

Legolas leaped up off of the bed, sheets flying in wayward directions. The four elves surrounding him started. The blond elf was trembling. Looking around wildly, his eyes showed nothing but fear - wild, savage fear.

Scrambling away from the elves, Legolas crouched against the wall, glittering eyes regarding them with mistrust. He bared his teeth.

"Legolas." Thranduil rose, and approached with haste.

Limbs trembling, Legolas struggled to sink deeper into the wall, away from his father. His eyes were no longer seeing. When he saw that there was no escape, he buried his head in his raised knees.

And he screamed.

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"What was it?"

Pale strands of golden threads flew wildly among the trees, whipping against the silent branches.

"What did he see?"

Fire raged in the heated breaths of the elf, bright and terrible. Dark arrows sang through the air, piercing orc after orc, singing death as they flew. As if taunting the orcs, taunting them of their inevitable doom.

The twin sons of Elrond looked at each other, shuddering involuntarily. No living creature could escape the doom that rained from a wrathful King Thranduil. He stormed among the orc alone, wild and terrible and beautiful, a deadly deity of light and darkness. The orcs that milled around him were fools. The king would kill them all, slaughter them alone. Rip them apart as if they were nothing but lifeless dolls and miserable toys.

"What did he see that he cannot recognize his father?"

Bright blue eyes turned to them, gleaming untamed, ferocious. Elrohir drew closer to Elladan. Elladan swallowed.

"My lord," he said softly, holding the frightening gaze, "I believe – we believe – that he lived through the orc's experience of torture and mutilation."

The white stallion stormed up close, and came to a standstill before the brown steeds of the twins. The orcs regrouped and began to pour out from the forest, charging for the distracted elf. Thranduil paid the raging orcs behind him no attention as his intense gaze poured fierce light onto Elladan.

Elladan creased his brows, recalling a memory that had been long cast aside. "When our mother was captured by orcs," he said slowly, feeling Elrohir's nails dig painfully into his palms, "she refused to let our father see what had been done to her." He let out a soft breath he did not realize he had been holding.

Thranduil's breaths calmed, eyes glittering. He nodded in silence.

"She said no one would be able to erase the horrors from my father's mind, should she allow him to heal hers," continued Elladan. He glanced at Elrohir.

Elrohir turned to look beyond the king's shoulder and focused his gaze onto the oncoming cloud of orcs. "Thankfully, Legolas had not finished healing the orc when we interrupted – which means he did not receive all of the orc's memories of suffering."

Thranduil slowly turned, facing the orcs. He readjusted his grip on the long sword.

"Adolescence is a sensitive age," mused Elladan, almost to himself. "It is not surprising that Legolas feels the pain as acutely as his own. Especially if it had been transferred directly to his mind through the healing, and such a degree of it..."

The king took a deep breath. "I thank you, Elladan. Elrohir." Abruptly turning his horse to face the nearing orcs, he raised his sword. "Please go to him." His voice was curt.

Elladan glanced at Elrohir. Raising an uncertain gaze toward his brother, Elrohir nodded, and turned his horse. As he galloped back toward the castle, Elladan drew his sword, spurring his horse to step up next to the king. Thranduil glanced to his side.

"Legolas will not forgive us if we leave you to stand alone," he said quietly, eyes focused on the orcs, his tall stature calm and steady. The king blew on a strand of stray hair. Elladan thought he saw a flash of a smirk. Not a joyful one. But still.

Blades danced as they launched themselves into the oncoming fray.

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Legolas slowly blinked. His head was spinning. It was so hot. So hot.

Removing the thin blanket resting on top of him, he slowly sat upright. His body moved without protest. Strange. He was so sure that he had been unable to move. Was it chains? Ropes? Poison? He was no longer sure. He could not remember.

He would not remember. He would not. He resolutely shook his head, and looked around.

There was a tray of food lying on the table by the bed. The room was empty save himself. The young elf sagged all of a sudden, realizing that he was famished.

How long had he been in here? Trapped in this room?

Was he trapped in this room?

Brows furrowed, he tentatively reached out and fingered the white wall. It felt smooth and cool to the touch. Nobody was here. No one was torturing him now. But they would come back. Break his brief moment of blissful peace.

This room was a sanctuary. And it was a prison.

Despondently, he leaned forward and reached for the tray. His hand halted in midair, uncertain. Withdrawing the outstretched hand, he inched closer to the tray, peering into the water. What if it was poisoned?

_Calm yourself_, he whispered. There was no reason for it to be poisoned. They already had him in here; he could not escape. Though the thought was anything but uplifting, it was a small comfort to know that he could trust the food to be real. With a sigh, he took a small sip out of the water bowl.

Click.

His head shot up. He put down the bowl immediately, and flew to the other side of the room. Poised against the wall, eyes glittering.

They were back. They were back to begin their tortures again. The respite was rare, and painfully brief. He bit his lip.

"Legolas."

A dark-haired figure approached. The face was blurry. He could not make it out. The voice...it was calling a name. A name. It came closer and closer. Legolas' body became tenser and tenser, until it felt as if it would burst.

Stop it. Stop it. Leave me alone.

A hand touched his forehead. He jolted, and screamed.

Please no. Valar no. Do not touch me. Not again. Please.

The hand went away. But it would come back. He knew it. It always came back. And did much more than just touch him.

With a howl, he threw himself to the other side of the room, grasping wildly. A cool surface of a bowl came into contact. He grabbed the glass bowl, and threw it toward the blurry life force that had turned toward him.

A shatter resounded in the room. He looked around wildly. The heat was getting more intense. They would burn him again. They would shackle him and torture him again. And they would touch him. Touch him in ways he had never known, touch him in ways that made him tremble and scream. He grabbed the tray of food and threw it toward the enemy. Don't come any closer.

"Legolas!"

The person was saying something. Something in a fast tongue that he could not understand. Desperate words, heated words. No. Do not come closer.

Tears of misery threatened to rise in his eyes.

Help me.

Leave me.

Set me free.

He overturned the table, sending it hurling through the air. Panting, he fell back in exhaustion against the bed. The figure, which had ducked the projectile, made as if to approach again. Legolas wrenched the sheets from the bed and threw them, threw the pillow, anything. His fingers wound themselves around the edge of the herb cabinet.

But before he could throw that too, a clatter resounded by his ear. Surprised, he jumped to one side, only to find that he was trapped. Trapped in a hazy violet smoke. Panic rose to his throat. Were they poisoning him again? Trying to twist his body into further horrors? Coughing, he tried to wade out of the smoke, but to no avail. The figure was gone. And his body felt heavy.

Wearily, struggling against the drowsiness, the young elf fell limply onto the bed.

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When the king of Mirkwood and young lord of Imladris approached the healing chamber, they were greeted by a band of frantic healers. When Thranduil tried to open the door, he was stopped by Elrohir, who exited the room with a torn sleeve and a long gash across his arm. His face and hair were thoroughly soaked with dripping water.

"He has fallen asleep," said Elrohir tiredly.

Thranduil grabbed the younger elf's arm, and dragged him into the next healing chamber.

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_**To Be Continued**_

**Unsung Heroine**: Woo hoo, thank you for the beautiful review! Your professor thinks LotR is a black and white picture? Haha, I guess you could look at it that way if you choose to look at it that way...har har. But yes, I agree that Tolkien is very deep and that his history is very complex with integrations of sorrows and joys. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

**Rede**: Haha, glad you liked it! Thank you!

**Brazgirl**: Oh yes, our beautiful Thranduil...(rubs hands) hehehe. Hopefully Legolas grows out of his adolescence soon and gets to understand this delicious king a bit better, heh? Thank you for the review!

**elvingirl3737**: Thank you! I am so very flattered. I hope you enjoyed this chapter too!


	16. Weep, Little One, Weep

**Disclaimer**: I do not own LOTR.

**Rating**: PG – 13

**Author's Note**: Thank you to **Elf771** for reviewing _The Strength of One Green Leaf_. And

to **Templa Otmena** for the numerous reviews, as well as congratulating me on the new nominations! Thank you!

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_**by Kasmi Kassim**_

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_**From Twilight to Dawn**_

**_Chapter 15: Weep, Little One, Weep_**

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Days passed since the young prince's lapse of sanity. The castle was hushed, tight with silence. The king was resting in a healing chamber, recuperating from an injury after a solitary battle against a band of orcs. He had ridden out alone in the dark of the night. And when he came back limping and cloaked in black blood the following dawn, no one had questioned him.

Elladan tiredly rubbed his eyes. Stretching his sore body, he rose from the floor and turned to gaze at the door that stood by him. The door which allowed no one to enter.

With a nod, he acknowledged the approach of his brother, who was wiping a blood-stained sword. Elrohir glanced at the door.

"I am beginning to think that we may have made a mistake," he said in a low voice. Elladan raised an eyebrow in askance.

Wearily, Elrohir sheathed his sword and plopped down onto the carpet. "The man that we freed at the entrance of the forest," he explained. "We should have brought him here. For questioning."

Elladan nodded. The very thing had been lurking uncertainly in the depths of his mind as well, though he was too weary, mood too dark to bring it forth to his lips.

"We should not have been so quick to believe him," continued Elrohir, running a weary hand across his face. "We were careless."

"We were worried about Legolas," replied Elladan, soothingly. He sat down beside his twin. "We were inclined to believe what a bound man abandoned by Mirkwood would claim about being an unfortunate witness to an incidental sighting of a struggle – especially with his descriptions of Legolas."

Elrohir leaned his head back against the wall. His eyes hauntingly stared up at the ceiling. "Even so," he breathed, "we were careless."

Elladan sighed. His hand comfortingly reached around his brother's shoulder, and silence settled into the air. Both brothers remained still, one staring at the ceiling, one looking down at the floor.

The silence was pushed aside when Elrohir opened his lips.

"Do you think..." eyes still staring at the ceiling, he breathed in deeply. "Do you think they did that to Nana too? What he is going through?"

The grip on his shoulder tightened. Elladan's eyes burned into the carpet. "Do not think about it, Elrohir."

Both fell into a silence again. Elrohir closed his eyes.

"How is he?"

Elladan raised his gaze, and drew out a long breath. The air seemed so gray today. Just as gray as the days after Nana had sailed. The days when he had held Elrohir as the younger twin wailed in his arms. The days when he had gone out into the rain to slaughter the orcs alone. When Elrohir had come to find him, had cried onto his chest as he continued to slaughter the motionless corpse of the enemy, dazed and blank. The rain had washed his tears away, the roar of thunder drowning out the screams.

The hallway was so quiet.

"We will have to be patient. He is not moving."

Elrohir bit his lip. Opening his eyes, he glanced at the dark door. "We have been patient long enough, brother."

Elladan shook his head. "He has been through a nightmare. Let him recover."

His brother gloomily stared down at the carpet, at his twin's pale fingers that rested against it. "He refuses to awaken, Elladan. He is still curled into himself, trembling in fear. Someone needs to break his nightmares, and drag him out into the light."

He was met with a long silence. Elladan let out a weary sigh. It sounded like a moan of the winds, the quiet breezes that swept through the gray clouds.

"I do not want to hear him scream anymore, Elrohir." Pleading eyes looked up into the eyes of his twin. Identical storms of troubled gray met. The voice was soft, so soft. "I do not want to hear anyone scream anymore."

Silence settled into the grayness. Elrohir gritted his teeth. His brother's eyes were haunted, empty.

He reached out and tightly clasped his fingers around the pale hand of his brother.

"You told me not to think about it," he hissed fiercely, shaking his brother's hand. "Stop it. Stop it!"

Elladan lowered his gaze.

Silence enveloped the gray halls.

Elrohir waited as his brother breathed deeply, closing his eyes. At last, Elladan's dark lashes lifted once again, revealing gray eyes sparkling with grim determination.

"Let us see him then," he said in a quiet, curt tone, and rose to his feet. Elrohir followed suit. Opening the doors, the twins entered the healing chamber.

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Legolas slowly awoke to the strange grayness of the room. Wearily, he rubbed his eyes.

How long had he slept? He was not certain. He wanted to fall back onto the cold floor, sleep, and never wake up again. He was so tired. So tired.

As he fingered the blankets covering his body, the images returned unbidden. The hands that slid up and down his body. The slithering touch brought back the tremors that had been silenced by slumber. Shivering, he wrapped his arms tightly about himself.

Was this what Nana had suffered at the hands of the orcs?

Pain was endurable. In his short life, Legolas had experienced more than a fair share of pain and agony. Injuries were rare, but still a familiar occurrence; emotional pain was an everyday occurrence that came with the task of being a healer. A grief of a human widow, the wails of an orphaned human child. Though he had yet to encounter death among his people despite the daily war, he had made enough trips to Imladris and Lothlorien to have seen and touched the pains of humans on t he way. And soothing their aching hearts, he always took the pain into his own, experiencing the grief that he had never known.

But this...this was more.

Much more.

He shuddered. Pain was endurable. But this was not. The foul stench of the breaths that warmed his neck, the calloused hands that slid up and down his body. The low laughter dripping with an emotion that he could not fathom. It was all so new, so strange. So frightening.

_Nana_, he whispered, unfocused eyes staring up at the ceiling, _I am sorry_.

He should have never touched the orc. He should have listened to his father. He should have...

_You killed Nana._

Legolas plugged his ears.

Stop it.

The world was spinning. And the hands were back, sliding up and down his body, breathing foul odor onto his neck. Swallowing, he shivered violently.

Struggles, screams, wails of anguish and pain.

I am not the one who killed Nana.

Legolas shut his eyes. Buried himself deeper into his raised knees, curled into a ball.

You killed her. I am not the one. You are.

A claw dragging across his skin.

He opened his eyes.

You hurt her. You hurt her. You hurt her. I could do nothing. But you hurt her.

"Legolas?"

The door opened. Legolas closed his eyes.

Elrohir stepped in after his brother, and bit his lip when he saw the elf curled against the wall. His long hair was hanging over his knees, gently touching his bare feet. He did not respond to Elladan's gentle call.

Elrohir approached slowly, cautious as to not startle the younger elf. Legolas still did not respond, however. Elrohir slowly kneeled before the prince, looking into the buried face.

"Legolas," he called softly. "Legolas, you must eat."

Standing some steps behind his brother, Elladan turned his gaze to study the silver tray of food resting on the bedside table. The food was left untouched.

"Legolas," called Elrohir again. "You cannot continue this. You must eat, my friend."

Tentatively, Elrohir reached out and brushed back a strand of hair. There was no response.

"Legolas," he called again, softer, gentler. His fingers grew bolder and pushed back the drapes of golden hair, revealing a ghastly pallor and a tightly hidden face. "Please."

At the soft tone, the elf flinched; Elrohir gently stroked his hair, murmuring words of comfort, whispers of encouragement. The prince trembled, and curled into himself even tighter.

Elrohir gasped in surprise when his brother suddenly grabbed his arm from behind and pulled him back up to his feet. Pushing Elrohir aside, Elladan strode toward the younger elf, and stood before him, looking down. His eyes were burning with an unfathomable storm, a wild fury that mingled without and within.

"Get up, Prince," he said, voice low. Elrohir blinked, alarmed.

"Rise, Legolas of Mirkwood. You have licked your wounds long enough. You are not so weak!"

A hand grabbed the unwilling elf's arm, and hauled him upward. As if turned to stone, the lithe body resisted with surprising ferocity.

Elladan's voice trembled, laced with blazing anger. "Get up, Prince! This cold floor and that wretched corner is not your place! Come out into the center of the room like the prince that you are!"

The force of the tug was so powerful that it finally unveiled the youth's face. Blank blue eyes were blazing with instinct - hate and fear, vengeance and terror, gleaming in the unfocused orbs in a mad clash of insanity. His feet dragged on the floor as Elladan pulled him toward the center of the room. When he found himself unable to resist, the young elf threw his head back and screamed.

A keening wail, long and shrill, mournful and terrible across the sad gray sky.

Elrohir looked away.

Gritting his teeth, Elladan continued to pull, and the body suddenly zoomed in close. Startled, he evaded a swing reflexively.

Should have known. Legolas preferred knives in place of swords for a reason. He was dexterous and daring, never on the defensive. He did not wait for the enemy to come within battle range; he always zoomed into the range first.

_And should you get hit first?_ Elladan had asked once.

_Then I must be faster and make sure to hit them first,_ the prince had replied.

Elrohir had laughed and said that the elfling was being idealistic. But when they met years later, the two brothers could not hit the young prince first.

And now, the offensive battle instincts were taking over the trembling body.

As Legolas thrashed and attacked, Elladan quickly released his grip, barely evading a projectile that flew past his ear. A crash shattered against the door.

Elrohir glanced back to find a dented bronze heap of a water ewer by the door. At least the healers did not bring glass. They knew better than to leave anything fragile or extraneous around the prince by now.

Before Elladan could recover from the surprise, the slender form of the prince had already picked up the silver tray. Elladan ducked, hastily pushing down Elrohir's head as well, as the tray flew in the air and hit the door.

"Legolas!"

The prince was at last broken out of his shell. And he was uncontainable.

The brothers ducked and dodged as more projectiles flew in the air with deadly accuracy, crashing against the door, the walls, the shelves. Elrohir looked toward Elladan in panic. Elladan gestured toward the door, and the two began to elusively back away toward it. They could barely make out the feral form of the prince now, so wild and desperate was the howling whirlwind before them.

"Legolas!"

The twins both looked up in surprise. Before the door stood the king, pale in his majesty, his chest bare except for a half-opened green robe. A knife that hung around his waist was the only weapon he carried; his hair was wet and tangled, tumbling wildly down his back and chest. His eyes were riveted upon the madly raging form of his son, who proceeded to throw half of a table toward his head.

"My lord!" The brothers' eyes widened in horror.

The king's glittering eyes were set. With determination lining his jaw, he stepped forward, and briskly covered the distance between himself and his son. Panicked, Legolas stepped back, throwing the other half of the table at him.

Evading the projectile swiftly, Thranduil neared his son. Legolas' eyes trembled in terror. He grabbed a broken shelf, and threw a ewer, whatever came into his hands – and yet the king continued to resolutely cover the distance between them, determined to approach his son.

Legolas looked around wildly; and then, he looked at his father again, and in a blur, darted forward. King Thranduil's step faltered as his son zoomed in close, swiftly pulled out the knife from his loose waistband, and with a strangled cry, drove the blade deeply into his chest.

The twins cried out in terror.

Legolas's breathing was ragged as he remained motionless, blood pumping beneath the blade in his hand. His eyes trembled, fixed upon the pale chest of his father, as his breaths filled the silence of the room. He blinked dizzily. And then looked up, confused.

Sorrowful blue eyes looked down upon him. And slowly, Thranduil raised his arms, and wrapped them around his trembling son, gently pulling him close against his throbbing heart.

Pale fingers trembled against the hilt of the knife that remained embedded against the broad breast. And engulfed in his father's warm embrace, the child clutched the damp gold hair that touched his cheek, and a mournful wail slid between clenched teeth.

The twin brothers watched as father embraced son and son clung to father, the ragged wail rising shrill into the air. Watching the violent tears crash onto frozen silence, weeping with bitter grief for what was forever lost.

The sky remained impassively gray.

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_**To Be Continued**_

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**Templa Otmena**: You have no idea how glad I was to hear from you again! I am grateful that you understand that I hate labeling light as good and dark as evil…they are both parts of nature after all, and the light/dark thing has a strong Christian taste to it, and I wish to keep the present worldly religion out of my writing as much as possible…the world I am trying to portray is, after all, shades of gray. Which leads me to say I am immensely happy to hear that you liked that chapter about my musings about the war. The dwindling number of reviews had me fearing that I am losing my touch, but it is good to know that you are enjoying my tale still! ;) I am once again fired up again to continue onto sequels and prequels.. hehehe. I am now wondering, how are your plans going? I am to be leaving for Korea in the middle of August, scheduled to return at Christmas time. So if I don't finish writing all of the stories I have planned out by then, I am glad to say I will pick up where I left off a few months later on! I know I am torturing poor Legolas quite a bit here, but hey, an elf learns the sorrows of the world the hard way, huh? There will be light at the end of the tunnel somewhere…;) Thank you so much for your reviews!

**Unsung Heroine**: Whoa whoa, I am assuming now that you are quite partial to our dear twins? Heheheh. Anyway, thank you for your patience. It is wonderful to know that you are still waiting for me to write another chapter so that I can get my lazy self to actually post what I have finished writing…har har. And I totally understand you in that part about writing snippets of this and that. Argh…it's so great that your sister is writing a novel though! I need to get around to that one of these days, hopefully before I die…har har har. Let me know when you write a screenplay; I look forward to it! ;)

**Brazgirl**: Yes, isn't it terrible? Oh wait, I made it that way huh. Oops. Hohohoh. Something will get better. Kinda. Maybe. Um. Yeah. Thank you for the review. Don't kill me for being mean to Thranduil! (runs away)

**Elvingirl3737**: I'm glad to hear you like my portrayal of the twins! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Hehe.

**Coolio02**: Hohoho, I wonder too. Hmm. Well, we'll see. Thank you for the review!

**Bulldogodiva**: Um, sorry? Har har, things will get better…hopefully. Thank you for the review!

**Elf771**: Wow, I'm surprised! Thank you; it's an honor to hear that you liked my other work too!

**Kateydidnt**: Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	17. Lonely Pilgrim

**Disclaimer**: I do not own LOTR.

**Rating**: PG – 13

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**Author's Note**: My great thanks to **merrymagic**, who reviewed many chapters of this story while catching up! I am much encouraged! I hope this chapter clears up some confusion. I loved your reviews; thank you very much!

_**by Kasmi Kassim**_

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_**From Twilight to Dawn**_

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**_Chapter 16: Lonely Pilgrim_**

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The first dim glimmer of dawn began to stain the dark sky. Shivering from the cold of the night, a shadow slowly rose from bed, and began to dress in the darkness. Silent were his movements, precise and efficient in the dim light of daybreak.

After donning his traveling gear, he sat down by the small round table in the middle of the simple room and began to plait his hair. The deft fingers worked meticulously, flying about the soft strands as the cold black sky slowly transformed into a fainter shade. He did not once glance outside.

Finished with his warrior plaits, he rose from his seat and approached the wall. Picking up the bow that rested against it, he swiftly stringed the weapon, practiced ease threading the actions of preparing the bow, checking the arrows and sharpening the twin knives into one smooth movement. Strapping on the quiver and sliding the knives into place behind his back, he approached the door and opened it silently. Turning halfway around, he studied his room for a moment. The neat bed, the small table, the clean dresser speckled with one glinting comb.

Turning away, he slipped out without a sound.

The eastern sky was a deep indigo blue by the time the door to the king's healing chamber opened without a sound. The shadow approached slowly, almost fearfully inching toward the motionless body that lay upon it. When at last he stood next to the bed, he fell onto his knees, slowly as if transfixed. One hand reached out with hesitation, and another tentative hand touched the bound chest. The white bandages looked so pristine, so pure and untouchable, even in the darkness of dawn. And it was so still.

Gently wrapping one hand around the limp one of the king, allowing his other hand to rest on the bandaged chest, the shadow bowed his head, and became still. And did not move as the mantle of dark blue in the sky slowly lightened into something softer, gentler.

At last, he raised his head, opening his eyes. The glimmering white light that had bathed him and the king faded away with one last powerful resonance. The motionless figure was now breathing with a steady rise and fall of the chest. Leaning forward, he gingerly ran trembling fingers over the king's chest once more. Feathery touches, with fingers barely coming in contact with the pure white bandages.

"Forgive me, Ada." The voiceless whisper dissipated into the dark blue air. He slowly rose, a solitary shadow. "I do love you."

With one last look at the motionless body, he swiftly turned and fled from the room.

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"Hush..." He gently patted the neck of the restless horse, silencing the irritated hooves that kicked the ground. "Please," he whispered, easing the horse back to calm as he pulled him gently out of the stall and into the open glade. With another soothing stroke across its shoulders, he lightly mounted. The horse trotted into the forest path, quiet hooves breaking upon the moist black earth.

The sky was brightening.

Squinting his eyes toward the east, he turned westward. Headed toward the retreating darkness, he spurred his horse on quietly, until his eyes made out two still figures awaiting him on horseback, blocking the path.

He said nothing as he approached. Azure blue eyes glistened with a wild array of emotions, a tumbling sea of words unsaid. Elrohir nodded in greeting, and an understanding.

"You look as if you are fleeing," said Elladan, his voice hushed in the quiet blue of the dawn. Legolas smiled. The smile was fleeting.

"I cannot stay."

"You are forgiven, you know that," said Elrohir. His eyes were dark, a deep plea. Legolas looked down upon the horse's mane. The pale fingers that remained tangled in it.

"I know. But I cannot stay."

Elladan sighed. His horse swung its tail, shattering the dew on the grass that bordered the path.

"You will return," he said uncertainly, "when you forgive yourself?"

The younger elf tilted his head slightly. This time, a genuine smile grazed his lips, albeit with sorrow. "Yes."

Elladan moved aside. "Then we will let you go." His whisper was breathed with a resolute hush.

Gratefully, Legolas watched the twins part ways for him. He turned his head as his horse passed theirs. "Will you..."

Elrohir nodded with unwavering promise in his steady gray eyes. "We will stay at your father's side."

Legolas smiled again, gratitude threatening to break his barely constrained expression. Viciously biting down his lip, he lowered his gaze. His pale face glowed softly in the trembling air.

With a frown, Elladan reached out with his right hand, and unceremoniously pulled the prince's head to his chest. Startled, Legolas gasped, but then gingerly leaned into the embrace. The horse underneath him kicked the ground in irritation.

When Elladan released his head at last, Legolas' eyes was shining with the silver dews of dawn.

When he turned to Elrohir, the younger twin gave him a gentle smile.

"We will see you again soon, brother." He reached out and stroked the prince's head with a tender hand. "And we will sing and hunt and run in the wind together, and laugh again."

Elladan waved his hand dismissively. "Go, little leaf. Go and defeat your demons."

Silent, the prince nodded. And with a determined light in his glazed eyes, he spurred his horse forward, cleaving the path cleared by the twins who watched in silence.

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And standing before the window, the shadow of the king did not move as his child rode into the west, into the fading night.

_Return to me soon, my little Greenleaf_, he whispered in silence.

The pale blue dawn was ever bright.

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_**The End**_

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**Author's Note**: This is the last chapter, folks. I know I left many questions unanswered – they will unveil themselves in my upcoming prequel to this story. Yes, I am reverting to the Elfling Legolas timeline. Hohoho. Thank you for reading, and pray accompany me – answers to your generous reviews will be posted on my next tale!

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**Swasti**: Surprised you there, huh? Hehehe. I love this.

**Unsung Heroine**: Heh, I am glad to hear that! Things are slightly better…or not…hmm. Well, more is coming soon. I hope you enjoyed the story!

**Brazgirl**: Uh, yes, he did. Um, don't be too mad at anyone. Hehehehe. Isn't it great? Thranduil is hurt and sexy at the same time! Woo hoo!

**ArcherGal2932**: Oops, I hope you didn't have to wait too long for the update! Haha, thank you for the long and beautiful review. And um, Legolas sorta recovered, didn't he? Hahaha. Thank you again for your advice!


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